Deep Into Darkness Daring To Dream
by spottedhorse
Summary: Foyle is having a quiet night at home when a knock at the door changes his life. Rated M because of the subject content and wull, it is Foyle and Sam...
1. Chapter 1

This begins after _The Russian House_ but before _The Hide._ Sam is working for Adam at the guest house and while they are growing closer, things haven't really progressed romantically for Sam. Foyle is looking forward to the end of his police career but not quite out that door yet. And yeah, I drive them a bit off the road that the show writers had them on. And as a warning, there is a lot of darkness before there is light.

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 _ **Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.** -Edgar Allan Poe_ _  
_

Christopher Foyle was settled in his chair, a half finished glass of Scotch on the table beside him and a book in his lap, although his mind was elsewhere. Summer was turning to Autumn and the air becoming chilled in the evenings. The war, even though it was over, continued to play havoc with everything and create shortages in all things, except crime it seemed. The one bright spot for him was that the war had also provided him with an unusual driver, Samantha Stewart, Sam.

Sam was a breath of fresh air. She'd appeared in his office, all brightness and vitality, thoroughly knocking him back a bit with her enthusiasm; and then irritating him with her lack of sensitively about the war. He'd initially thought she wouldn't last long, but she'd proved her mettle that very first day and astounded him in an entirely different way. And then, with his son Andrew away, flying missions to God only knew where, Sam helped him keep his sanity. Without her, all he would see was the darkness. Yes, Sam brought light into his life in a most pleasing manner. And it was her that occupied his mind that evening.

She managed to get herself into the most awkward situations and that was putting it mildly, he mused. Today had been one of those situations with her literally stumbling into the middle of a pack of black marketers and nearly getting herself killed in the process, even though she was no longer working with him. Thankfully, he and Paul Milner had extricated her without too much difficulty and the constables had rounded up most of the culprits. But it was only once that he had returned to his office that his breathing had settled into something akin to normal. The thought that he could have lost Sam that day was not a new one; but it was one that was growing more difficult to bear. He needed to find a way to manage that… or her better. The distance that had been created iwth her in a new position was doing nothing to manage his feelings.

With a sigh, he finished his drink and went around the room, shutting things down for the night. Just as he reached to turn out the last lamp, there was a pounding at his front door. Irritated at the disturbance and also a bit cautious, Foyle opened the door. His mouth fell open at the sight before him and then his arms extended to catch her as Sam Stewart fell through his door.

Holding her close, he managed to close the door behind him. Then carefully, he led her into the front room. He was too shocked to speak so he simply settled her in Andrew's chair while he lit the lamp. Then kneeling in front of her, he took a deep breath. "What's happened?" was all he could manage to say.

Her face bruised and bloodied and her stare vacant up until then, his words unleashed the floodgates. "I'm sorry sir but I didn't know where else to go. I … I was walking home from the pub and these men… two of them… they came out of an alley and the next thing I knew they were hitting me and…" she dissolved into sobs, great body wracking sobs that frightened Foyle.

"Stay right here," he instructed. Quickly he went to the kitchen ad got a glass of water. Walking back through to Sam, he paused at the table that held his scant liquor supply and added a bit of Scotch to the glass. Then kneeling in front of her again, he offered her the drink.

Sam took a gulp and handed it back to him. "I'm sorry sir," she said, the tears still rolling down her face. "I shouldn't have come here…" She looked around frantically.

"Sam, it's alright… that you came here. Please, tell me what's happened. You've obviously been attacked. Your face… is that… are you hurt anywhere else? Did they…" _No, please God, no… not Sam…_ "Sam?"

"They hit me, over and over," she cried. "And then they… oh sir… they… " she collapsed into him, nearly knocking him to the floor. He held her a moment until the fresh sobs abated and then gently eased her back into the chair.

"I'm calling the doctor, Sam. You need looking after. And we need to report this. Those men need to be found…" _Strung up if I have any say in it…_

"No!" she cried. "I couldn't bear for anyone else to know… didn't really want you to know but I ... I couldn't go back to... I don't want Adam to... I can't..."

"Sam, we really need to report this. Can't let them get away with it. And I thought you and Adam were getting close?"

He watched as she coiled into herself and knew he was pushing too hard. "Alright, not the station… for now. We'll talk about that later. But you do need a doctor. I'll have him come here. You have to be looked after, Sam. And Adam should know where you are. He'll be expecting you..."

"I can… clean up… if you'll help me with the scrapes and cuts on my face, I can do the rest," she managed between sobs.

Holding her tight against his chest, it was all Foyle could do to hold back his own sobs. "You're a brave girl, Sam. But please, a doctor… Hmmm? Please Sam… And then I'll call Adam?"

She leaned back into the chair, away from him. Her dark swollen eyes glanced all around the room but she wouldn't look at him. He understood why. "This isn't your fault, Sam. You understand that, don't you?"

"I… I think I do but not everyone will agree. Some will say I… and anyway, Adam's out with some of his friends from... oh I dunno..."

Christopher took her hand in his. "Oh Sam, no…. no one who knows you would believe that this is your fault. You are not to blame and anyone who says differently can take it up with me." His feeble effort at comforting her only served to produce more sobs from her… and some inner ones from him. "And Adam will be home sometime and wonder where you are."

"Right," she sobbed. "But do we have to tell him... everything?"

"I'll keep it as short as possible, Sam; just let him know you won't be back tonight."

With taht he stepped away form her to make his phone calls.

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So there is the beginning. I have most of the rough draft written but not quite polished and finished. I'll try to post once a week but make no promises; life is kind of messed up right now. Or if you think this is rubbish say so and I'll try something else.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been years since Dr. J.J. Josephson stood in the Foyle sitting room. The doctor had been called out in the middle of the night not long after the first anniversary of the late Mrs. Foyle's death when Andrew had come down with a serious case of stomach upset. The discussion that night had been a sight better than the ones that preceded it over the fading health of Mrs. Foyle. Unfortunately, this night had thrown Christopher Foyle back into despair. Josephson saw it immediately upon the detective's opening of the front door.

Foyle had quickly explained the situation and Josephson gave the young lady a quick once over in the sitting room. Then looking up at Foyle he'd asked, "don't suppose there's a room that's a bit more private?"

Foyle's eyes widened and then narrowed as comprehension slowly set in. "Upstairs… can use my room or Andrew's at the back. Bath is close by too."

Foyle watched as Josephson led Sam up the steps. Sam was trancelike now, her eyes vacant and her demeanor somewhat lost. That look worried him more than any physical injuries. Feeling completely helpless and angry and a sundry of other frantic emotions, he paced for a few minutes until he stood beside the liquor cabinet. Pouring himself another Scotch, Foyle knocked it back, letting the burn of the alcohol slide down his throat.

As he waited, Christopher debated calling her father but quickly dismissed it. That should be her decision unless things were so bad that it became necessary, he reasoned. Having come to that conclusion all that was left was for him to pace again, which he did.

Finally Josephson appeared in the doorway. "You can pour me one of that," he said grimly as he pointed to Christopher's glass. Foyle did as the doctor asked and handed him the drink quietly. He knew the doctor would tell him what was required and whatever else the medic thought he should know.

"Christopher, who is this young woman to you?" Josephson was looking at him quizzically.

"Samwuz mmy driver… and my friend. Sshe stepped out with Andrew for a bit and I thought she might become family. Bbut Andrew made a mess of it." Christopher swallowed tightly. _Damn Andrew, if he'd not been such an idiot then she wouldn't have been out at the pub tonight._ Christopher blinked as that thought ran through his mind. _Nooo, not fair; isn't his fault either._ But Christopher couldn't help wanting to blame someone.

"Sshe's… sshe'll be alright…in time?" he asked the doctor tentatively.

"In time," the other man agreed. "But she's been through hell tonight, Christopher. Her attackers… they weren't kind at all, not at all…. Brutal in fact. Worst one I've seen in awhile in terms of… erm, well, you know. Poor girl probably will never want… well, to be touched again."

Foyle's entire body clinched as the meaning of the doctor's words sank in. Never in his life had he felt such rage and there was no way to release it, no one to visit it upon. Not yet anyway. "Sso what do I do… to help her?"

"Be best if she had a woman looking out for her but she insists she does not want her parents informed. Does she have any female friends or relatives nearby?"

Shaking his head negatively, Foyle answered. "Not that I'm aware. A few friends but not… not close enough to help her manage this. She's been helping out at a guest house up on the hill and become quite close with the owner, Adam Wainwright."

Josephson looked at Foyle speculatively. "You sure there's not a woman? Or maybe you could persuade her to tell her mother?"

"I can ask but yes, fairly certain there is no one who she would want. And her mother's frail, it seems. Probably not up for this."

"She indicated that she would like to stay here with you, if you're willing. There hasn't been… I mean, you and she aren't… haven't…?"

Christopher's eyes flashed up at the doctor's. "Heavens no! God's sake, JJ; what do you take me for? Sshe's Andrew's age aaand… and my driver. It wouldn't be… right… for me to … to take advantage of her like that." Christopher couldn't identify why the implication had bothered him more than usual just now, but it did; it made him angry… and afraid. "Aand anyway, there's Adam..."

"Just wanted to be sure," JJ said quickly. "She's not in a good state of mind and an amorous boyfriend is the last thing she needs."

"Oh … rright. Of course not. There's nothing there, like that between us; just worked together."

"And friends," JJ added as he looked at Foyle dubiously.

Christopher looked at the doctor cynically. "And friends," he agreed.

"For now, she needs rest and comforting. I imagine she'll have nightmares. And she'll be sore the next few days, a week maybe; bruises will take longer. Nothing's broken, except her spirit possibly. But she is bruised and beaten and there are some wounds… personal wounds, if you know what I mean. She'll need to keep clean and you'll need to keep a watch for signs of fever. Let her sleep as much as she wants. Let her judge how quickly she is up and about but don't let her wallow either."

"Tthat all?"

"I'll check on her in a day or two unless you call me first. And Christopher, try not to let her see your anger. She's likely to take it on herself. She blames herself in this as it is and if she sees how angry you are, she's going to think it is with her."

"Right," he answered darkly. "She says she doesn't want to report it. I…"

"Let her decide that. She might feel differently in the morning. Meantime, I've made a record of the injuries. Jotted down what she told me too. But don't press her, Christopher. She's been beaten up quite enough tonight already." Christopher saw Josephson out the door and then wearily climbed the steps to find Sam.

She was in his room curled under the bedclothes in a fetal position, her defenses making her ball up. He tapped quietly on the doorframe in case she was asleep, but of course she wasn't. She jerked at the sound and the covers came down just enough for her to peer over the top at him. "mind if I come in?" he asked as lightly as he could manage.

She nodded but still wouldn't look at him. Gingerly he sat on the foot of the bed. "Sam, the doctor says you need looking after for a few days. He suggested a woman. Is there anyone…" Her head shook frantically as her eyes grew large. He took that as a no. "Alright then, I suppose I'll have to do, unless you want to stay up at the guest house. " She nodded vigorously that she did not. "You can stay here. I've some time off due. I'll call Hugh Reid in the morning and arrange it. Tell him that since I'm taking some time, I've sent you to visit your parents. That way no one will expect you at the station."

The relief in her expression nearly broke him. He didn't like seeing her this frightened. "You're safe here, Sam. I hope you know that."

"I know," she whispered. "I… knew I could trust you; more than anyone."

Her words of trust were like a knife thrust into his chest. Bloody poor job he did keeping her safe on the best of days and tonight… he began to shake with the anger of it. She saw his reaction and began to retreat under the covers; Christopher knew he had to do something to ease her anxiety. "It's alright Sam; suppose I'm just feeling some aftershock. I won't deny I'd like to get my hands on these men that did this to you but we'll leave it for tonight. You comfortable where you are?"

"Yes," she whispered. "But I can go to the other room. This is…"

"Fine. You're fine right where you are. I can sleep in the other room. I just…" he felt his eyes water and paused to collect himself. "I just want you to be comfortable," he said hoarsely.

"I am. Feels safe here, with you," she said shyly.

Not quite sure of what she meant by that, he decided to let it pass. "So, I'll just collect my night clothes and leave you to it," he said as he opened a drawer to pull out fresh clothing. It occurred to him that Sam might want to shed her clothes. "You um… want something to sleep in?"

Her expression almost showed a hint of a spark as she nodded that she would. "Ummm, one of my nightshirts do?" He felt awkward asking but it was all he could think of.

Her eyes grew huge. "Yes please," she finally replied.

Pulling one from the drawer as well as the bottoms, he crossed the room to hand it to her. "We'll get some fresh clothes sorted for you tomorrow, alright?"

Eyeing the material in his hand, she nodded agreement. He couldn't help but think that if one only looked at her expression, they might think he was handing her a prize of some kind. She seemed keen to have his shirt. _Probably eager to get out of her clothes,_ he surmised.

He handed her the night clothes and then headed for the door. "You'll probably remember from before, bathroom's across the landing. And if you need anything, anything at all Sam, you'll let me know?"

She nodded briskly. Christopher had one more thing on his mind. "I've called Adam, let him know you won't be home tonight. We'll sort the rest tomorrow," he said as he closed the door behind him.

The call to Adam had certainly sounded quite idiotic if not entirely suspicious and Foyle wished he'd been able to explain more. But even if Sam hadn't been so upset at the prospect of Adam knowing what had happened, he wasn't certain he could make himself say the words. To try to explain what had happened to Sam would have crushed him.

With that in mind, Christopher finished his nightly routine and stood next to the door to his room listening. The house was quiet and he detected no sounds that might indicate she was crying so he padded off to Andrew's room to settle in for the night. He didn't think sleep would come easily but he knew the next few days would be rough and he needed to try.


	3. Chapter 3

It was in the dark hours of the early morning that he was awakened by her screams. Forgetting his robe and slippers, Christopher Foyle flew into the hall and through the door to his room. Sam was sitting up in the bed alternating between screams and sobs. "Sam," he said as evenly as he could manage. He knew that he needed to go slow, that she was caught up in some sort of nightmare and he shouldn't startle her out of it. But she kept screaming. As bad as her screams were, however, her sobs were shattering. "Sam," he said a little more emphatically.

Touching her could be risky, he thought, but he needed to do something to bring her out of the terror she was locked in. Gingerly he reached out and touched her arm, "Sam!"

She jerked at his touch and then whirled toward him, her unseeing eyes wide in panic as she swiped her arm around to slap him, knocking him backwards into the door. His back hurt where it connected with the corner of the solid door, his head following just after. That felt like his head might've been sliced into halves. Rubbing the back of his head tenderly, Foyle approached her cautiously. "Sam, really… you must wake up," he said harshly hoping the sound of his frustration in his voice might get through to her. She raised her hand to swing again but he caught it and held her wrist firmly, trying desperately not to injure her more. "Sam!" he yelled and then with he shook her. He regretted it but he could think of nothing else to snap her out of it.

His shake had the effect of reducing her to sobs as she collapsed into the bed. Foyle couldn't tell if she had awakened or not, so he sat tentatively on the bed. "Sam, are you awake?"

She shuddered and he heard a hitch in her crying. "Yes," came a hoarse whisper.

"Yyou were hhaving a nightmare," he told her softly.

"They were… they kept… I tried to fight them off but they just kept…" and she fell into more sobs.

Wincing as he moved, he reached for her, this time resting his arm over her back. "I know you did, Sam. I know you would have fought. This wasn't your fault."

She leaned toward him and with his arm, he encouraged her closer until she was leaning against him clutching at his shirt much as a small child might. "But if I hadn't gone out… It's just the sort of thing Father worried about, warned me about but I get so bored at the guest house all the time and some of the girls from when I was at the MTC were going out and most of the guests were dining out tonight and I thought..."

"I know Sam; you're young and you deserve a bit of fun and excitement. The war has stolen so much from you. You should be planning your life, not living in fear and worry."

"Father would say I had far too much excitement working with you," she said through her sniffles.

Relieved that she seemed to be calming down, he smiled. "I might agree with him. But that's not the kind of excitement I'm speaking of. You should be out dancing and have young men stumbling over themselves and each other for the chance to dance with you. And they should take you to the cinema. A girl your age should have her choice of young men asking her to dinner and out for a Sunday picnic. This should be your time, Sam. The war has taken that from you."

"I'm not _that_ young," she sniffed. "And I never had many fellows asking me out anyway," she confessed. "There was one or two when I was still in Lyminster. And there was Tony that time… and Andrew and Joe. A few others asked but I didn't like to go with them. But really, not so many. Being the daughter of the vicar sort of put the boys off when I was still home. And since I've been here, well…"

"Well... whut 'bout Adam?"

"I... like Adam, a lot. He's very nice and we get along well but... I'm not sure; everything's very unclear. And the guest house isn't doing that well really and I don't see his prospects... He'll be a success at something I'm sure, but I don't know what and I don't think he does either." Her brow scrunched into a frown. "And I can't see myself having much patience with his... floundering. I know it's not easy, settling in again after the war, but..."

"Sam, I imagine you can do anything you set your mind to. You've been an endless bit of surprises to me since the first day we met."

"Really? I thought I just irritated you at times. But now everything just seems so uncertain. Everything was quite clear when I came to Hastings, I had a job and was learning so many interesting things and meeting so many people and we were all working for the sake of all and now... I just feel like I'm adrift. I suppose if I cared very deeply about Adam, I wouldn't feel so lost. "

"The war, or more its aftermath. You didn't have time to think of these things when you should've been. And now... you're expected to suddenly know what it is you want out of life. And I'm afraid that this experience will put you off men and the idea of marriage altogether."

"Oh, I don't know... I... I'd like to marry sometime, I think. Have a family. But only if is with someone who loves me as a husband should love a wife and I can love him properly too."

"Wull, glad to hear it," he replied. "And...um, sure a lot of chaps around Hastings will be too."

She sat straight up, peering at him in the dark. "You want me stepping out with anyone in particular?"

"What? No. I want you to do what makes you happy, gives your life meaning. Although there is Adam... aand I had hoped Andrew… but he made a hash of that."

"Yes, well… I don't think it would have lasted in any case."

"Oh?"

"I um… well, I sort of realized sometime later that he wasn't the one for me. I sort of realized I was expecting him to be someone else."

"Then there was the young American," he replied evenly.

"Right and although I did like him, no… Joe wasn't the man I wanted either."

Foyle frowned as he wondered who she might be thinking of. "Well, Adam or whoever the chap is, he's lucky I'd say."

He sensed that she was almost smiling now. "You think so?"

"Oh Sam, of course I do. And soon all this will be behind you and you must let this young man know that you're interested."

"But he won't want me… after this. The doctor said there might be scars and… well, who wants a woman who has been… "

"Nnonsense. If Ad... if this young man of yours doesn't want you, well… then he's a fool."

"Oh no sir, he's no fool, but I just can't see how he would want me...now."

"Hhe would, Sam," _if I were fifteen years younger I'd be at your door, "_ if he's as wise as you make him out to be and I certainly hope he is." _And Adam strikes me a reasonably level headed chap_. " Can't have you stepping out with a fool now, can we? You're far too bright for that."

She leaned against him again. "Thank you."

"Oh Sam," he said sadly. _I wish this hadn't happened_ , "you should be safe in your own bed dreaming of this not too foolish young man of yours."

"Oh, I already do that… dream of him, I mean. And he really isn't foolish at all and maybe not so young either."

Foyle frowned in the darkness. Who could this mystery man be then? He might have thought of Milner sometime back, but now? No Paul was married and happily so. Had she had met someone else that he was unaware of? Well, whoever the man was, Foyle hoped he deserved someone as full of life as Sam, since she really didn't seem _that_ interested in Adam, which brought him an odd sense of relief. "You think you can sleep now?"

He felt her nod and released her from his grip. "Alright then. I'm just across the landing if you need anything."

"Yes, I know. And … thank you."

"Nneed to stop thanking me Sam. Glad I can help in some way; just wish it wasn't needed."

Returning to Andrew's room, Foyle settled under the covers gingerly. His back and his head both complained about the jostling. Once he was reasonably comfortable, his mind began to wander, taking him back to the morning Sam had been bombed out of her billet.

He'd nearly choked on the fear that had washed through him when Milner told him about it. And as he'd watched Sam while walking up to her as she sat in her landlady's front garden, the reality of her close call made his knees weak to the point he knelt in front of her, asking after her and studying her face both to reassure himself she was alright and to give himself time to recover. It was that day that he realized he was falling in love with the girl and was only just absorbing the enormity of it when she mentioned the girl who had been killed was twenty three, a year older than Sam. The math had been simple. Sam was twenty two and he... was twice her age and then some.

He laid awake for some time, chewing the inside of his cheek as he contemplated the unfairness of it. After years of mourning and feeling so very alone, he'd finally found someone who might fill the void in his life. But the situation was entirely inappropriate then and continued to be now. Sleep did not come easily.


	4. Chapter 4

Many, many thanks to all who have commented and reviewed! You all are a fantastic audience. So many simply review as guests so I don't know who you are but your words are very kind and much appreciated. You keep me going back to the keyboard to keep the story going!

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Christopher was up early the next morning after a fitful night of trying to sleep. He'd made tea and put breakfast on by the time he heard Sam stirring upstairs. Standing in the middle of the kitchen he debated whether he should go up and check on her or give her time to come down on her own. Glancing at the clock, he decided his first task should be to call Hugh Reid and let him know they'd have to do without him for a few days. He heard the bathroom door close as he dialed the number. By the time he'd finished with Hugh, Sam was gingerly making her way down the steps.

He looked up after replacing the phone back in the cradle to see her turn as she descended the last step and his heart broke once again. _Oh Sam, darling Sam..._ The bruising on her face was only a hint at the deeper wounds to her he knew, and that knowledge was crushing. Too broken and weary to hide her feelings, she looked at the floor and swallowed with difficulty. "Thank you for letting me stay," she whispered weakly.

"Nnot at all... I erm, I've prepared breakfast," he replied, hoping the mention of food might lift her, if even just a little.

She looked up briefly, glanced around, and tried to smile, but it was obviously too much and her gaze shifted back to the floor. "That's very kind... I'm not sure I can eat though."

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Christopher stepped closer to her. "Let's give it a try, mmm? At least some tea? Nneed something, Sam, to face the day; don't you think?"

She sighed and turned toward his kitchen. "Right," she answered with no emotion at all. _Nothing right about any of this,_ he thought as he followed her through.

Sam was quiet through the day, eerily quiet. Once Foyle would have valued the quiet, an escape from the constant questions and curiosity of well wishers and concerned friends or nosey neighbors after his wife's death. Then the din had settled and he was able to go about his routine, obviously lacking the warm conversation with Rosalind at the end of each day but at least free of the solicitous inquiries of others. Andrew had supplied noise enough, childish chatter and disquiet, depending on his son's mood, but through it all the boy was rarely quiet. After he left for Oxford, Christopher found himself adapting to the now quiet house and while he missed his son, he relished the quiet. Andrew's departure with the RAF had changed the comfort of the quiet as worry seeped into Christopher's thoughts.

But at nearly the same time, Sam had entered the picture with her cheeriness and constant chatter and questions. Annoyed by it at first, he came to value her presence, enjoy it even, and eventually even looked forward to it; much more than he should. So having her so quiet unsettled him. That and her lack of appetite were indicators of just how badly affected she was after the brutal attack. Anger boiled deep within him as he thought of the men who had done this to her, to Sam, his Sam. He shook his head at that; she wasn't his, at least not in that way, the way he'd thought of her just then. Perhaps she was his in terms of responsibility but not... no, he mustn't let his mind or his feelings go there. Still, he couldn't help the overwhelming sense of protectiveness that he felt towards her, or the desire to make things better for her. If he only knew how...

Finally when he laid out things for tea, she took a passing interest in the food he'd set out. She nibbled but at least she was making an effort to eat.

They listened to the wireless that evening. He was attempting to read a new novel and she was curled on the couch, lethargic and still quiet. When he heard her sigh from across the space, he laid the book aside and looked at her. She seemed deep in thought but from her expression he deduced that her thoughts weren't as dark as they had been earlier in the day. Progress perhaps? Slowly her face turned up to look at him. "Do you ever think..." She shook her head as if to stop herself.

"Think what, Sam?"

"About remarrying. I know you loved your wife, still do I think. But... well, you are too young to be alone."

He let a small grin quirk at the corners of his mouth. "Been speaking with Andrew, have you?"

"What? No..." Her brow furrowed. "I just... you're too good, too kind to .."

"To what?"

She took a deep breath which he took as a sign of a verbal barrage about to come. "It's just that it seems such a waste, you being alone when there are women, plenty of them that would be happy to step out with you, marry you eventually and there are so many women... some are widows so they would understand your... your grief. Or maybe not a widow, maybe ... someone like that Miss Hicks, Barbara Hicks. You remember her don't you? She didn't seem to like men much but you changed her opinion, I think. Or... well, there are some who haven't even been married yet; younger women who might prefer someone slightly older."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he gave her comments a moment's consideration. "Wull Sam, these erm... women hhaven't exactly been beating a path to my door. Partly my fault, I'm sure. The war, the staff shortages, its kept me busy. Aand for a long time after Rosalind's death I just couldn't, didn't want to think about... someone else."

"But you could now?"

 _What is this about?_ "Oh I don't know. I've been on my own for so long; not sure why a woman would have me. Bit set in my ways."

"Well for a detective, you certainly aren't very observant then," Sam replied.

"Beg pardon?" He felt his eyes widen, surprised by her comment.

"I've seen heads turn when you enter a room. You're an attractive man. And your manner; I wish more men would adopt a manner like yours. Women appreciate the way you are with them, always courteous and... well, there are a lot of things about you that women would find attractive."

He gave her a puzzled look. He couldn't remember turning any heads, not that he paid much attention to such things any longer, although a pretty woman occasionally caught his eye. "You have anyone in mind for me, Sam? One of your MTC friends perhaps? Or is it someone else that you've met since you've been here? Hhave to tell you Sam, I prefer to catch my own fish, if you don't mind."

"No, not... I mean, I'm not trying to ... I was just curious."

Realizing this was the most animated since she'd appeared on his doorstep hurt, Foyle decided to play it out a little further. "You sure? Because if it's Mrs. Elkins from church, wull you can forget that. But now I'm curious. What sort of woman do you think I should pursue, _if_ I decide I'm back on the market?"

She almost smiled as her eyes dipped down to contemplate her hands as well as his matrimonial future. "Mrs. Elkins? She's an old bat, so you must be teasing me. Can't imagine you'd want to spend a moment's time with her." She pressed her lips together in thought. "I can't think of anyone in particular right now. There's Mrs. Madison, perhaps."

Foyle quirked an eyebrow. "Mrs. Madison?"

"Yes, you know her; she helps out at the green grocers sometimes. Her husband was killed in the first bombing. Although she does have two children still at home..." Sam finished with a worried frown.

A hint of a smile worked at the corners of his mouth as he recalled Mrs. Madison. "Mid 40's perhaps? Beginning to go gray? Has a tick in her left eye?" He watched for her reaction. "Oh, and mustn't forget mole on the tip of her nose either," he added mischievously.

"She does not have a mole there!" Sam replied. Then looking up she saw the cheekiness in his dancing eyes and smiled. "You're just being... " She struggled to find a word.

"What Sam? You object because I'm not taking to your suggestion for my future wife?" He played at looking insulted but was secretly enjoying having a bit of Sam back.

She watched him try to hide a smile and worked hard to subdue her own facial features. "Then who would you have? Or have you set impossibly high standards for yourself?"

His mouth twisted and then compressed as he considered her question. "Nno, don't think I have. Rosalind set them for me, I suppose." His eyes moved to look at his late wife's picture which still occupied a prominent place in his front room. "She... she put me in my place about a few things and... showed me how to be a bbetter man. " His mind wandered back to a conversation awhile ago with another woman, Elizabeth, in this very room. _Losing her didn't change a thing,_ he'd said in response to her suggestion that losing Rosalind had made him harder somehow. _Marrying her changed everything..._ And it had in so many ways. Rosalind was from a higher class than his but it had never mattered to her. In her eyes, he was an equal and she'd stood up to anyone who dared suggest otherwise. Her support of him gave life to his ambitions and freed his mind and his soul from the restraints he'd felt all his life as a policeman's son. She had allowed and even at times pushed him into being the man he became, supporting him in his efforts and building his confidence. After she died it had been a struggle to continue but he hadn't wanted to let her down, so he had drawn on their life together for strength to be the man she had seen in him. He missed her still, her kindness and her support, and most of all, her love. Thoughts of anyone else had left him cold... until recently.

Sam watched almost in awe as a look of profound grief passed over his features, his eyes gaining a prominence in his face, wide and sad, hurt even. She guessed him to be in his mid forties, approaching fifty perhaps, but just in that moment he seemed a mix of a very old man and a lost little boy. Deciding he needed rescuing from impending melancholy, she replied, " Can't imagine you ever not being a better man."

He blinked and then looked at her in a manner that made her think he was startled by her comment. "Wull, thank you for that but I came back from the war, the last war, bit crude."

"A diamond in the rough then?"

Tilting his head, Foyle considered the analogy. "I s'pose. Rosalind smoothed out the edges and lifted me from... well, where I was." He turned contemplative again.

Having seen how difficult it was for some of the returning soldiers, ones that had been wounded, Sam thought she an idea of what he meant. Still, she couldn't imagine him like that. He was a proper gentleman in her view, smooth about the edges, polite, kind... except when dealing with criminals, of course. But most of all he had integrity, something that her work with him had shown to be lacking in many people. Shaking her head she replied, "well, I can't imagine she had much work to do there but I didn't know you then, so I can't disagree. She must have been a very special person though."

Foyle's mouth almost turned into one of his upside down smiles as he looked at her dubiously before his features softened into an expression of happy contemplation. He hadn't spoken this much with anyone about Rosalind in years, preferring to keep what they had shared safely tucked deep within himself. But somehow it was easy with Sam. "She was but why do you say that?"

"Well..." Sam looked down as she gathered her thoughts. "You're still in love with her after all this time. And you speak of her with such regard and other than that ... I don't know what to call it with Barbara Hicks ... you hardly even look at women as, well... women. Yet I've watched other women's reactions to you and I know what they are thinking. They want you to look at them in that way because you're... well, you."

Embarrassment had crept into the exchange for him and now was in full bloom. He really didn't know quite how to respond to her assessment. Feeling the heat creeping from his neck to his face, Foyle looked away. "I, I wasn't aware... of such... notions. I'm rather past my prime and haven't thought there is much of interest here." _This really is getting too personal._

"Oh but you're wrong, sir. I'd say it's more that you are _in_ your prime and there is a great lot of interest," she said with enthusiasm. Sam opened her mouth to add more but upon seeing the completely bewildered expression on his face decided against it. She had always looked upon him with respect and their working relationship had evolved into a friendship of sorts, although she suspected he pictured himself more of an interested uncle than a friend. Yet here they were discussing his marital prospects and she found herself fearing that he might actually have some. And to put a tin lid on it, he was looking at her in a bemused way but with a different sort of glint in his eye, one she had only noticed a few times, including one of the encounters with Barbara Hicks. Remembering that, her mind wandered back further to the time she had changed at the station for an evening with Tony Lucciano. She'd descended the steps in her blue dress and turned to see an expression on his face that had stirred something deep within her. She hadn't understood it at the time, other than he thought she looked nice. But knowing him better now, she knew something had stirred in him that evening too. His expression now was very similar, except that on that night so long ago he seemed more sure of himself and he seemed uncertain tonight. Her eyes widened as the meaning of his expression sank into her. It was a revelation she had not been prepared for. Then she wondered why she was asking all the questions, why was she doing this to him? Her mind paused momentarily to consider. And then it jumped to a new thought. She wanted it to be her; she wanted to be his marital prospect, of course she did and he... he might welcome it.

He saw the look of contemplation cross her features and grew even more uncomfortable. "Getting late, Sam. Perhaps time to retire? I know it is for me."

She nodded quietly, still mulling the end of their discussion and her reactions... and his. He began turning out lights as she made her way upstairs. By the time she heard his footsteps on the stairs she'd finished her preparations for bed and was climbing into his bed. Once again she wondered if she shouldn't just move to the other room, leaving his to be reclaimed by him. But she couldn't bring herself to do that; she felt safe here in his room. But after his gentle consolation last night and all through the day, she realized she would also feel lonely without him in the room, here in his room.


	5. Chapter 5

Once again, I am awed by the very kind words of those who leave reviews. Just a little disclaimer here, I don't own the characters. I just like to play with them. Also, anyone who knows anything about fly fishing will quickly catch that I know very little, except what I read on the internet. The bit here about it was prompted first by the importance of it in Foyle's life and also a snippit I read where Michael Kitchen commented on having to learn something about it to play the part. And while on the subject of Mr. Kitchen- in trying to capture the essence of Foyle, I've watched some of his other works, especially The Guilty from years prior to FW and Alibi. Rewatching Alibi I was astounded by the breadth of MK's abilities. He played Foyle and Greg Brentwood in the same year and there couldn't be more opposite characters ever. I expected to see some bleed from one character to the other and while facial expressions were sometimes the same, MK put different nuances behind those expressions and gave them complete different meanings. And while MK's Foyle is a buttoned up, self contained, has his act together type, Greg Brentwood is all over the place. Both are somewhat reticent but even that quality comes across as distinctly different. In other words, as an actor I find MK fascinating and brilliant! And now...

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Sam was unusually quiet again the next morning but Foyle was relieved to see that her quiet was more contemplative in nature than dejected. She did eat a reasonable breakfast although she still wasn't showing her normal appetite. Still, he considered breakfast a small victory. After the breakfast things were cleaned, he settled at the table to work on some of his fishing flies. Sam was sitting in the front room reading but soon put the book down and came to the table to sit and watch him work.

"Do you have a special one you make or do you make different kinds?" She asked after a few minutes of watching the detailed work.

"Oh, I make a few different ones," he replied. "Which one I use depends on the conditions and the method. Although most of the time I use dry flies. Sometimes use the wet ones though and sometimes I'm nymphing. All use different flies. This one's my favorite though," he said as he proudly held up a finished fly. "Have the best luck with these."

Sam studied the little bundle of bits seriously. "Looks like you took some hair and tied it all together."

Looking down at his prize Foyle grimaced. "No, not hair. But I s'pose I see what you're getting at. With any luck I can catch our dinner with this, tomorrow perhaps."

"Oh a fish dinner sounds ever so much better than one prepared off rations. Could I go with you, sir; when you go fishing?"

Foyle looked up and saw that Sam looked almost eager. "If you like," he replied carefully. "Might be a bit sedate for you though. Nothing to do but sit quietly and watch."

"I.. I could bring a book. Read. That's quiet." Her expression almost recaptured the enthusiasm that had been more or less incessant since he'd known her. Yes, his Sam was coming back to life... _but you can't think of her that way,_ he reminded himself.

They set out early the next morning for the river. Foyle hoped that by doing that they would avoid seeing many people along the way. The bruising on Sam's face was still rather pronounced and new bruises still seemed to be cropping up, deep ones that seemed even more sinister than the initial ones. He had no idea what the rest of her body must look like but he had sensed awkwardness from her over breakfast, as if she'd finally gotten a good look at things. She kept pulling her cardigan tighter around her like it might further hide the marks left by the two brutes.

He'd gone around to Adam's guest house the day before to collect some things for her. The inquisitive lady who was boarding there had forced him into some lies and he finally said that Sam's mother had been taken ill rather suddenly and she'd boarded the first train. He would put her case with spare clothing on the train that afternoon for her to have something to wear while at home. Last evening he'd had Sam call home to ensure her parents wouldn't be phoning her anytime soon. Sam told her father that Mr. Foyle was called away for the next few days and had asked her to drive for him. She said that she'd write to them when she returned to Hastings. Foyle had been amused to watch her standing at the phone with her fingers crossed behind her back while speaking with her father. It was such a Sam thing to do, he'd mused.

She was tugging at the cardigan now as they moved down the road toward the edge of the town. Christopher glanced around and saw only a few people about and they showed little interest in the odd pair out for a morning of fishing. Still, Sam suddenly seemed to need to watch her feet as they moved across the pavement, her head down and her arms pulling at the placket of her jumper. "You alright, Sam?"

"Hmmm? Oh, yes," she replied as she glanced briefly at him. Then ducking her head again, she began to ramble. "Just watching where I step. The cobbles are all wobbly here, don't you think? I suppose there's too much work elsewhere to worry about a few cobbles here on this road, isn't there; what with the bombings taking out so many homes and making holes in the main roads. So I'm just being careful; wouldn't want to trip."

Christopher grimaced as she rambled. Perhaps it was too much for her just yet. Coming to an abrupt halt, he watched as she did the same and turned to look at him, her expression full of surprise. "Sam, are you uncomfortable, being out? We could do this another day if you'd like."

She swallowed and glanced over his shoulder. "I... I am, a little. But I want to do this; I need to... to feel... alright again." She ducked her head once again. "Could we just... keep going?"

Chewing the inside of his mouth, Christopher nodded, swallowing the anger that was rising in his throat again. "Yes, of course. But you will tell me if it gets to be too much?"

"Right," she agreed as she turned to continue their journey, soon leaving the town behind them.

Christopher had been in the stream for a while, casting his line and catching a fish or two. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sam on an old blanket he'd brought along, her back against a tree with a book in her hands. But she wasn't reading, she had fallen asleep. Feeling a wave of warmth and contentment wash through him, he returned to his fishing.

The walk home proved more challenging. More people were about and even though he was careful to guide her away from any crowds, it was inevitable that someone would notice the battered young woman. And unfortunately it was the baker's wife, who had a nose for scandal and a tendency toward gossip.

She stepped out of the shop just as Christopher and Sam were walking past. "Miss Stewart?" she gasped.

Sam groaned as she slowed to halt but Foyle grasped her elbow and forged ahead, barely giving the woman a nod. "Mrs. Simmons," he said as they passed.

But Mrs. Simmons was not a woman to be put off so easily and she fell into step. "Miss Stewart, what happened?"

"I umm... oh," Sam stuttered.

"She had a nasty argument with the pavement," Foyle answered in her stead. "Pavement won," he muttered as he propelled Sam forward.

Once they reached the steps of his house on Steep Lane, Sam all but collapsed into him as he unlocked the door. Mindful of neighbors peering through the curtains, he shoved her through the door, kicking it behind him when they were safely in the entry. By this time, Sam had turned and had her head buried in the fabric of his waistcoat on his shoulder.

Inwardly cursing himself for not thinking ahead, he dropped his fishing basket and rod to better hold her against him. "It's alright, Sam. Sssafe now. No one here but me."

He felt the soft shudder of a sob and then she nuzzled against him before straightening up. She wouldn't look at him though and cast her gaze down to the floor instead. "I... I'm sorry; don't know why... It just all..."

"I know; nothing to apologize for. The baker's wife was far too inquisitive. I should have known someone would be about this late in the morning."

Her head shot up and her head was shaking. "Noooo, sir. You... were... wonderful. And I really did enjoy being outside... at the river. But her question really did bother me. After that I felt like everyone was staring at me."

Foyle let a grin play at his lips. "Only because they were wondering what a lovely young lady was doing with me since it wasn't official business."

Regaining some of her fight, Sam sniffled. "Well, it's none of their business at all, I'd say."

Gratified to see some spark in her again, he did let a smile form. "Nup, none at all. Quite right."

Sam looked down and sighed. Then spotting the basket on the floor she spoke. "Should we get clean these fish? I feel like I haven't eaten in ages and we could have a very nice lunch."

Feeling calm settle in him again after the last few minutes, Christopher nodded his agreement. "Yup. We'll have the smaller one with lunch and perhaps the larger ones will make a supper or two?"

"Of course they will!" she exclaimed. "They're huge; why should you doubt they'd make two meals?"

"Wull, didn't know how hungry you'd be since you've not eaten in ages," he said with a teasing glint in his eyes.

Sam looked up, startled. And then her face broke into a grin, one that lit her eyes. "Oh sir, you're teasing aren't you?"

Returning her smile, he nodded toward the kitchen. "Let's get to it then."

Foyle thought Sam was calmer through the rest of the day, not as introspective or morose as she had been since the ... attack. His blood still threatened to boil whenever he thought of what had been done to her and it was difficult to not think of it.

He was once again settled in his chair in the front room, attempting to read. Sam had declined his suggestion that she have a lie down after lunch only to promptly fall asleep on the sofa almost as soon as she'd opened her own book. Emboldened by the knowledge that he wouldn't be caught out, he let his eyes meander over her. The bruises really did make her all the wrong colors but even so, as the swelling receded from around her eye she looked more and more like his Sam. And the way her hair fell in waves to frame her face softened features that might otherwise appear homely, especially with the bruising. But it was her expression that tugged at his heart, such innocence in her face, such contentment... did she feel that way because she was here with him?

He grimaced at the hope that sparked within him at the thought. _Mustn't think it..._ But how could he not? Sam had literally knocked him over with her vivaciousness since their very first encounter. In her company he often felt younger and more alive than a man his age and in his situation ought. With Sam around, life had possibilities again. But likely Adam or some other young man would take her away from him and that was as it should be, he reflected. But at least for now... a man could dream, couldn't he?

And dream he did, very vividly that night. Sam was there, beneath his fingers, next to him, her warmth enveloping him. Consequently, he awoke during the night with overwhelming need and no way to resolve it. Oh, the physical aspects might be assuaged but it was the deeper need, the ache in his heart that was unremitting. Still, he would trade the heartache for these last years with Sam. She had slowly brought him out of the deep fog he'd lived in for far too long.

Regret enveloped him as his mind caught on that last thought. Rosalind's death had devastated him but he'd had to move on, perhaps too quickly; he'd had a son to care for and there was his job and... if he were entirely honest, he'd been afraid to pause long enough to properly grieve. When he'd lost Rosalind it felt like he'd been ripped apart and as he slowly put himself back together over the following months there'd always been a part of him that was missing. He'd attended his duties well enough, he supposed. But that hole inside him never healed. Sam, however, had filled it somewhat with her bright disposition and impetuous trust in him. At times her faith in him was a heavy burden but ... well, it did wonders for his self regard having a spirited young thing like Sam believing in him.

A long sigh escaped him. He certainly didn't understand why she placed her trust in him so easily; he'd failed her on more than one occasion. The events of the other night was his greatest failure to her, but allowing her to be put in positions where she'd almost been blown up, three times no less, had to score close second. But she had forced him out of mourning, though even now there were days he felt the tug of grief. His heartache had been a constant companion for such a long time and it felt wrong to give it up. But with Sam at his side, grief had slowly untangled itself from his heart to be replaced with something new, something entirely to do with Sam.


	6. Chapter 6

Managed to sneak in some extra writing time and got this all polished (I hope) so thought I'd post it earlier than usual.  
As always, many thanks to those who left reviews. You keep me chained to the keyboard. Happy reading.

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Two days later, Foyle decided Sam was doing well enough that he could manage a few hours at work. He spent the entire time worrying about her, fighting the temptation to call his home to check on her. Upon his return to Steep Lane, he was relieved to find her reasonably cheery, even elated when he stepped through the door. Her smile when she saw him made his heart skip a beat and he had to remind himself once again not to put too much into it.

The following day, he risked longer hours at the station. Anticipation of the end of his police career was growing in Christopher and he found the day to be tedious. Or at least, that was the excuse he gave himself for his inability to concentrate. A few moments when allowed himself to be purely honest, he knew it had more to do with who was at home waiting for him than anything else. Those moments were followed by others where he chastised himself for allowing his thoughts in that direction.

After the pleasure of the previous day's greeting when he stepped through the door, Christopher braced himself, emotionally ready to defend the walls he'd so carefully placed between Sam and himself. But as he opened the front door he realized it was all for naught, as the house was quiet. Hanging his hat, he ventured into the front room thinking Sam might have fallen asleep on the divan. Further investigation led him to the kitchen where he struggled not to laugh.

Standing in the middle of the room was Sam, covered in flour. She was staring at the cupboard, her body tense with frustration. "Sam?" He spoke quietly but still it seemed to startle her and she jumped. And then she sighed a long mournful sigh. Tears followed.

"Wwhat happened?" he asked as he ventured further into the room.

"I thought I might try baking some bread. Thought I might get two or three loaves for the same amount of rationing coupons required for a loaf at the baker's. But..." she looked around, spreading her hands to indicate the floury mess that covered the kitchen.

Christopher let his eyes wander away from her to take it all in. A smile made a slow crawl across his face as he did and then it turned downward as his eyes settled once more on Sam. His eyes twinkled as he noticed the freckles that fought through the flour to show on her cheeks. And he thought that the flour in her hair might just give a hint to how she might appear in twenty years time when the grey began to show. "Errr... hadn't heard of any bombs going off today. 'ppears someone failed to report the one here," he quipped.

Sam looked at him through her teary eyes and allowed a grin to form at her mouth. "Didn't want to flour the whole house to get to the telephone."

Foyle surveyed the room again. "Wull um, do you think one loaf might be salvaged from this or do we just need to clean it all away?"

"Oh no, sir! You shouldn't have to help me clean it... not... well, your suit. And... well, I should be the one to clean it. And I did get one loaf in the oven already. Should be ready soon. Once I have this cleaned up, I'll put together a dinner?"

Grimacing as he contemplated what would be required for a clean-up, Foyle shook his head. "Nup, I'll help. Then we'll freshen up and go out."

"Ah, that would be marv..." she paused and sighed. "I don't think... my face, I mean... the bruises."

"Right, well... I'll fetch some fish and chips and we'll eat in. But first, we should take care of this," he said as he looked around the room again.

The two of them working together made quick progress and they finished just in time for Sam to pull the fresh loaf of bread from the oven. Seeing her breathe in the aroma and the look of delight that spread across her face made Christopher think he'd gladly give up all his rations to keep her in supply of bread making necessities. He had to admit that he found the smell quite pleasing as it filtered through the house as well.

Sam chattered through supper and as they cleared up afterwards, Foyle thought she seemed quite happy. It lifted his sprits to see her as herself. But as he listened to her chatter and watched her expressions, he found himself spellbound by her face and the rebellious freckles that dotted it. He didn't understand why, but he found her freckles endearing. It was those freckles that haunted his dreams that night, the freckles and her dark luminous eyes.

He awoke early in the morning with a very prominent awareness of what dreaming of Sam did to him. Lying in the bed trying to will the damned thing away, he heard her footsteps on the landing and then a moment later, a soft knock at his door. "Sir?" her whisper came through the door.

Not ready for her company, he replied through the closed door. "Yes, I'm awake.

"I was wondering... I mean, I thought perhaps... well, I had another nightmare and..." His ears picked up the sound of a stifled sob and his most immediate problem disappeared immediately. "I was wondering if I might... if..."

Shuffling to get out of bed, Christopher reached for his dressing gown at the foot of his bed. "Coming Sam."

Adjusting the robe, he opened the door to find her standing just outside, head down, her hands fidgeting. "Bad one, was it?" he asked quietly but even that seemed to startle her. And then perhaps surprising them both, she collapsed into him, his arms instinctively wrapping around her to steady them both. "Right... ridiculous question," he said softly, chastising himself internally.

Carefully he guided her downstairs, thinking that might be safer territory. He needed that, safer ground to ward off the angry and possessive instincts that were rising in him. Leading her into the front room, he felt her curl toward him even more, seeking shelter in his arms. Christopher closed his eyes against the warring emotions that created. _Steady old man, she's depending on you..._ But Christ , it felt so good to have this warm young woman so close against him.

They sat on the divan and talked for a few minutes, Christopher trying to soothe her after her dream. "Dreamed of the attack, Sam?" he finally asked.

"No... no..." she replied, straightening up and wiping at her tears. "I... it was about me in the future. I was married; I don't know who he was but we... we were together, if you know what I mean... and" a painful grimace twisted on her face.

"And it was unpleasant?" he asked as mildly as he could manage.

Amidst sniffles she nodded, "Yes." She took a deep breath and swallowed. "I'm afraid that I'll never... well, what I mean to say is... well, ask really is... will it hurt? That night it really hurt and ... and I don't think I could... if that's what it is like. But I do want to be married, to have a family one day."

Foyle grimaced. Of all the topics of conversation he thought he might ever have with Sam, this wasn't one. But he knew she was looking to him for answers and as uncomfortable as it made him, he knew he couldn't ignore her question. "Wull Sam... bbest speak with the doctor about any remaining concerns about your injuries. But as for what I know of things in general, don't really think it would be like that night was. When people are together in the way they should be, when they care about one another, wull... most people find it pleasant."

She was looking at him now with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. She was contemplating... something. But where he usually had inkling of what she might be thinking, he was entirely without a clue. But the expression passed as he saw a question coming. He only hoped he could be ready for it, but of course he was not.

"Would you... would you show me?" she asked tentatively.

"Steady on..." he blurted in alarm.

"I don't mean everything. Just... something. I need to know and... and I trust you."

An earthquake shook just below him at her words. She trusted him... she wanted him to... .to... but she trusted him to know when to stop? Or how? What did she mean, she trusted him? Was it a good thing? Or was he so old she felt he was no threat? Or... or what exactly? "Sam?" he barely manage to say.

"I... well, I would want to see how it feels with someone I care for and... you're a gentleman and wouldn't..." she looked down to watch her fidgeting hands as she spoke. ..." hurt me like those men did... or even like it hurt in my dream." Her eyes came up as she addressed him next, her dark hues staring straight into his lighter ones. "I know you wouldn't."

His eyes were wide as he took it all in and the way his mouth was working, he knew he must look like a fish in a bowl. She was asking him to... to what exactly?" Feeling every bit as taken aback as he had the first day she had bounced into his office, he took a minute to gather in his emotions... and a few wild thoughts as well. "Wull... erm, what ddo you have in mind, exactly?" he asked rather pointedly.

She took his question as acceptance of the idea and charged forth with an explanation. "Well I thought, a few kisses perhaps and maybe some... cuddling?"

Christopher rubbed his finger over his eyebrow in thought... or really more to stall and give himself time to calm down. "Yyou want me to kkiss you? Aand hold you... and?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I've never... I mean, I know how it is to be kissed but nothing has ever... " she shrugged. "No one has ever tried to carry things farther. Well, until that night."

"Don't you think it might be bit soon for ... for that?"

"I'm not suggesting... well... everything."

"Ssam, don't you know how... attractive you are? I don't think it would be wise to... to begin something that... "

"Oh really sir, I don't believe that I'm so stunningly appealing that you couldn't control yourself. But it is very nice of you to suggest I might be." She was looking at him in nervous puzzlement now.

Every nerve in his body tingled and the rebellious little soldier who'd caused his grief earlier was beginning to misbehave again. "You shouldn't be quite so trusting, Sam."

"Oh, I'm not most of the time. But I trust you completely."

 _Christ, what now?_ "Ddon't think your suggestion is really a good one, Sam," he said diffidently, trying to mask his raging emotions.

She looked down again, dejectedly. "Right, I understand." Seeing the change that came over her, as if she was collapsing into herself, he closed his eyes in mental reckoning. And then in a rare fit of impulse, he did what he knew he shouldn't and leaned carefully to her, lifting her chin and capturing her lips with his. Her response was immediate... and electrifying. And exactly what he feared happened; he was lost to her, the sensation of her lips and the feel of her so close. _God in heaven take me now because I don't think I can let her go..._

But let her go, he did; after the third and rather randy kiss. He pulled himself away and stood, stepping to the mantel in an effort to cool his thoughts... and his body. "Sam, I... I apologize," he said rather meekly as he turned to look at her. But her expression stopped him. Dark eyes shimmering, she was looking at him in astonishment. "Oh, I say..." she breathed. "I never knew it could be... like _that..."_

"Whut?" he asked in confusion.

"So... so... exciting. I've never felt... always before it was just... tolerable because I thought well, it was what was expected, wasn't it? And I suppose the men got some pleasure from it. But _that..._ oh, that was splendid." She was absolutely glowing.

He couldn't help the male pride that puffed his chest at her reaction. Nor could he help the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. But he knew he had to put a stop to it all and quickly. "Sam, we can't... I can't ttake advantage of you in that way."

"But I want you too," she blurted. And then pressing her lips together, a frown creased her forehead. "At least, a little." She looked up at him beseechingly. "I... feel so confused."

"Yes, right... which is why this can't happen again."

She nodded as she looked down forlornly, which only made him want to repeat the experience if only to put a smile back on her face. _Christ, how am I to manage this?_


	7. Chapter 7

A "guest" left a review asking if I'd ever talked with anyone who had been raped and suggested that it isn't a subject for entertainment. I wish "Guest" had reviewed under a username so I could have responded by PM. But since they didn't, I'll reply here. First, yes I am all too familiar with the consequences of rape. I'm not going to explain further in this venue, but yes I am familiar with the territory. And secondly, I'm hoping to show some of the difficulty for the people who care about the victim. And third, if we don't talk about it how can we deal with it? For instance, in Foyle's time there wasn't much awareness about the real motivations behind rape, most prople thinking the girl did something to cause it. We now know that in a case like Sam's it has little to do with sex but more to do with power and rage. In her time, she would have faced public humiliation with many pointing the finger at her for sexual promiscuity and the notion she invited the violent act. Sadly, that still happens today, but because we do discuss it more openly more and more people are realizing that the crime has little to do with the victim's actions, other than they are unlucky enough to come across the radar of a criminal. I'm giving Foyle credit for being a bit more "modern" in his thinking and understanding that it was not Sam's fault. Still, other than trying to be there when she needs him, he's at a loss as to how to help her. And in the process, his own feelings for her are coming into clearer focus, at of course the wrong time. I'm confused about why the guest reviewer didn't speak up until chapter 6, and I am continuing the story. If that offends, I'm sorry.

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By the following afternoon it was clear Sam would have to leave the deteriorating safety of his house and return to her life at the guest house. He was far too tempted to repeat his actions and she seemed far too willing to let him, even seeming to try to instigate a response from him by touching him or giving him looks that set fire to his insides. He knew it was absolutely the worst time for a display of his own ragged emotions and she would heal better without his confusion weighing on her. It created an uneasy feeling in Christopher Foyle as he contemplated her departure. He knew Sam was struggling too. But she was recovering from her trauma, not so shattered, and she needed to return to her life. It would be dangerous and inconsiderate of him to ask her to stay longer; yet, he couldn't seem to quell the rolling emotions in his chest as they spoke of it.

"I... I don't know what I shall say to Adam exactly," Sam confessed.

"Say whatever you wish. But it would be unfair to lie to him, don't you think? Mmight not tell him everything, just that you were attacked?" Foyle was trying to give Adam the benefit of the doubt, to credit the young man with the good sense to support Sam as she continued her recovery. And he'd had a reminder just that morning of how grossly inappropriate it was for her to remain with him, without a chaperon. The biddies across the road had made no secret of the fact they were watching him, the gaps in their drapes at the windows barely concealing the attentive eyes behind them. The war had changed many things, but not the small mindedness of the biddies. Foyle sighed heavily. Nor could he deny that the way his emotions were unraveling, Samantha was in need of a chaperon with him. Perhaps the small mindedness of the biddies wasn't unjustified.

"I... I wish... what I mean is... I feel safe here," Sam said disconsolately.

Her demeanor tugged at his gut even as her words made his heart stand up and take notice. Then again, he wasn't so old that he wouldn't like to feel just a little dangerous to a beautiful young woman. But this was Sam and she had been hurt, deeply hurt, and it gave him pleasure to know that he had brought some feeling of security back to her; he certainly didn't want to ruin her progress with his own unstable emotions. "I am happy to hear that," he said as brightly as he could. "But as much as I've enjoyed your company, it would be best if you are able to regain your life, don't you think?"

She was looking down, her fingers fidgeting with one another as she tried to gather her thoughts and her courage. "I... I rather like my life when I'm..."

He waited for her to finish and when nothing more came, he prodded gently. "Wwhen you're... what?"

Ever observant, especially with Sam these past few days, Christopher saw the sudden rise in her chest as she took in a great amount of air in preparation for the words that were about to fall out of her mouth. "When I'm with you. It's almost always so exciting but even when it isn't it is interesting and I feel ever so comfortable with your teasing and the way you explain things to me and... then there's the quiet times like at the river when nothing is happening really and still it feels so warm and wonderful and ... and... I've missed that since... well, since I haven't been your driver. When we went up to London and I helped you it was like old times only it felt even better, maybe because I had missed you so much but then we were almost shot and Adam was and the case ended and you were mostly gone again and ..." she paused with a frown on her forehead. "Do you know what scared me the most in that shelter when that man was coming to shoot us? I was afraid you would get killed and then what would my life be... without you. I know we'd seen some danger before but that was the closest I think I ever came to losing you and it frightened me and... well, I just don't think I could bear it, especially after the way you kissed me."

Foyle knew his eyes were wide with surprise and he suspected his mouth hung open. Without expressing it in words, Sam had just revealed that she had feelings for him far beyond those of an employee and perhaps even friend. Suddenly his world was out of kilter and with her hidden confession he realized that he could no longer deceive himself with the notion that he was more of another uncle or perhaps trusted friend. No, suddenly he found himself confronted with the sure knowledge that not only was he was in love with the young woman who sat across from him but perhaps she might feel the same about him. But acknowledging all of that to himself and letting her know his feelings were two entirely different things. She could not know or she might be dissuaded from pursuing a man much more suited, just as he knew that if allowed his own feelings full bloom he would do everything possible to do the dissuading.

He had to do two things, he thought. First he had to get his own emotions under control and immediately. And then he needed to get Sam out of his house and away from temptation. And in that moment he was disinclined to do either.

But even before that, he needed to respond to her barrage of words. "Wull, glad to know I'd be missed," he said as mildly as he could. "Planning to be around awhile longer though, Sam."

Her gaze settled on his eyes just then and she became very still, unsettling him even more as she did. "I... I've realized something," she whispered. Now her eyes were wide and he saw it all coming together in her mind. "I... you... you're more than my employer..."

Allowing a tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth but feeling as if needles were pricking him everywhere, Christopher nodded. "Rather hoped we were friends, Sam."

She opened her mouth to answer but closed it and then looked away briefly before locking onto his face again. "Rather more, I think."

Christopher sat frozen in his chair, afraid to say anything. But in his chest his heart beat rapidly as hope filled him. although it was against his better judgment. And his mind... his mind was running off into places it hadn't been in some years.

When he didn't reply, she took charge. "I... I've known that I've had feelings for you since... well, almost the start. At first I thought it was a crush of some kind; you know, young student and wise professor sort of thing. Every man I went out with was compared to you and came up wanting. It... it's because... I love you... am _in love_ with you" She blurted the last as if she feared she wouldn't get it out.

How can one experience absolute joy and complete desolation at the same time, he wondered. For a man who believed he would never find love again the notion that this bright, beautiful blast of fresh air and sunshine could love him was beyond amazing. But it was forbidden fruit in his mind... simply could not come to be more. So with his insides churning and his heart breaking he opened his mouth to speak. "Sam, I..."

"Oh I know you don't love me; you're still in love with your wife and you're not the sort of man who would love two women at the same time. And I must seem awfully naive and even irritating at times and not nearly smart enough to keep up with you. But... it is the way I feel about you. And now I've said it."

His eyebrows rose once again as he digested what she said and he glanced away, his mouth twisting as he fought what he truly wanted to say. _Not at all, Sam. Naive perhaps but not so irritating and you are every bit smart enough and the way I feel about you... A man my age... it's obscene really..._ "Wwell... I'm fflattered of course. But you must realize Sam that the differences in our ages... wouldn't be a good match."

"I know there are people who would think that but I don't care about that," she said frankly. "In fact, I think that's part of what makes you so attractive to me." Her bright eyes and assured smile almost had him begging himself for a chance to find out. But instead he gnawed at his inner cheek a little before responding, "mmight matter in another few years; mmight'n be so attractive by then." He fixed a steady gaze on her, trying his best to look blithe while he felt his insides were ready to explode. "Or might be because I'm... _safe."_

But she knew him too well. Her eyes undid him as they travelled around his face, taking in every feature, line, and crease. And when her eyes settled back on his, she smiled. "Oh, you're no Clark Gable, sir. Never have been. But he's really only _that_ attractive on film, isn't he? But you... you're real. From your thinning but wonderfully curly hair to your eyes and all the way to your toes, you're real and very attractive in my mind. But it isn't because you are handsome, although I think you are, but it is because of you, your character, the man you are. That won't change in the next few years, will it? You'll still be Christopher Foyle then, won't you?" She smiled at him and then added, "and after yesterday morning, I know that you are not safe, not entirely anyway."

Her look of happy expectation unnerved him and turned every bone in his body to jelly. How was he to counter that? Looking at her with wide eyes, afraid to believe anything she was saying, and wishing to heaven it could be true, he couldn't respond. He didn't dare for fear he'd open his mouth and his feelings would spill out. Consequently, he glanced away, his tongue dipping into his cheek as he worked it furiously before finally chewing on the inside of it in thoughtful despair. He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat constricting painfully as he pushed back the emotions that welled up within.

He watched as her face fell into its own melancholy and she sighed. "Well, I've done it now. You'll pack me off the Adam's and I'll never see you again, will I? But I just had to tell you; couldn't keep it in any longer," she half whispered.

"Sam," he whispered softly, his anguish evident in his voice.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "I knew it. No man will want me now, not even you, the most understanding, considerate man I've ever known. I... I'm damaged goods now, aren't I?"

Horror that she would feel that way rippled through him, rising in his chest and bringing bile into his throat. "Sam, that's not true. I am flattered that you could... have such feelings for me. And... what happened the other night has nothing to do with... well, what I am feeling. Certainly n..not damaged goods."

"But you don't want me, don't care for me. Not like I..." she began to sob.

Closing his eyes against his own incompetency, he knew he had to say something. He couldn't see her hurt, be the cause of it really. But what to say? How could he possibly..."Ssam, I ..." He stopped, closing his eyes once again, chastising himself for being so inept. He had to tell her... something. "Truth is I... I care for you much more than I should. Aand it is equally true that I am too old for you. You should have a man more your age, one more capable of keeping up with you, someone with whom you will grow old. You are just beginning your life really and I... wull, I have fewer years ahead than behind."

Taking in what he'd said, Sam's sobs subsided and her expression turned thoughtful again. Then looking straight at him, tears still pooling in her eyes, she asked, "did you marry Andrew's mother believing the two of you would grow old together?"

Her blunt question and frankness with it shocked him. A frown furrowed on his forehead as his chest tightened. It hurt, her question; there was no denying. Thoughts of Rosalind were always a mixture of hurt and comfort, love and loss... and grief. For that reason, he rarely spoke of her to anyone. And now here was Sam trying to use her against him. Among all the other diverse emotions swirling inside him just now, anger rose to the surface. "Sam," he said sharply to stop her.

And stop her it did. "Oh I am sorry, so very sorry; I should have never... I mean, I didn't know you then, didn't... it's just that... I think all couples start out expecting to have so many years together but if there's one thing the war should have taught us, it is that nothing is certain. Why, I could be gone tomorrow. Don't you remember when I had Anthrax... or... or all those times I was blown up? I could have died any of those times but I didn't. And both of us might have been killed in London and... and neither would have known how the other felt, not really. And when I was attacked... I might have died then without telling you, without understanding it all myself. And that just seems wrong to me."

In his mind, Christopher Foyle conceded her point. Outwardly, his face remained impassive and perhaps somewhat painfully contemplative. Closing his eyes to the renewed onslaught of conflicting emotions, he grasped at a tendril of an idea. "I... I plan to go to America soon. My replacement is scheduled to arrive and then I'll be free to... well, clear up some unfinished business. Don't know how long I'll be away but I will return," he said quietly. "If you feel the same then..." He shook his head in disbelief. What the devil was he doing? But looking at her hopeful face, he knew he'd committed. _In for a penny, in for a pound..._ "You'll have time to get over what's happened, Sam; and to think. Give Adam a chance? And we'll speak of this again then? When I'm back? If you still care to, that is. Can't promise I'll see things differently then but... it will give us both time to think."

She looked at him warily. "You are just saying this to put me off, aren't you? And unfinished business in America? What could you possibly have to finish there?"

Foyle cleared his throat. "Erm... rather not speak of it but has to do with overdue justice."

Her eyebrow twitched slightly and she stared at him intensely until he saw the flicker of recognition. "That... that man, the American... the one who killed the inventor. He was friends with your friend the barrister." He could see her mind searching for a name. And then, "Paige... that was his name. You're going after him after all this time?" She sounded incredulous.

"I am," he said simply.

"Oh take me with you. Please take me with you... "

"Sam, I couldn't even if I wanted to. It's likely to be fraught with difficulty. I'm not even certain how I will get there. And he's a Senator; it'll be a bit like an American detective coming here to chase down an MP. Not likely to be met happily."

"So I'm right, you are trying to put me off?"

"Nnup... not t'all. Just giving you... giving us both time to think. Ccan't really see why you'd have any interest in me, Sam. You're just beginning your life and I'm... well, I'm looking forward to retirement. Not the same places, are we?"

"But that's just it; I can't see my life without you in it," she exclaimed. "And you've said before you couldn't go anywhere without me."

His eyes crinkled at the corners as a small smile worked its way south. "Tthank you for that, Sam; for making this old chap feel ... wull, not so old. But the truth of the matter can't be ignored."

"So you've no intention of using the time to think? You're just hoping I'll move on to someone else and you won't have to be bothered," she cried in earnest now. "I... I won't bother you any longer then. I'll go back to the guest house and... and I'll marry Adam if he asks me and ... and ..." She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and without thinking, Christopher reached in his pocket, producing a handkerchief.

 _Wull you've botched that ..._ "Sam... please don't... "

"Don't? Don't what? Don't cry, don't marry Adam, don't make you feel bad?" She looked at him with such anguish that it tore a new hole in his heart and he felt tears in his own eyes. And then the air seemed to go out of her. Her eyes closed in capitulation and she let out a soft groan. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't... it was wrong of me to... I wasn't being fair to you. After all, I've just sort of sprung it all on you when... well, obviously you don't think of me in that way. I'm sorry. I'll leave and won't bother you again."

An anvil landed in his chest as he watched and listened. _Don't think of her in that way... Christ, it's obscene the way I've thought of her, dreamt of her at times... And now I've broken her. You're a fool, Christopher Foyle; a damned old fool. But you can't... she's far too young to be tied to a tedious old man. Still, you've made a hash of this, haven't you._ He chewed on his inner cheek furiously as he tried to think of a way to fix this. "Sam... nnot a bother, never that," he said remorsefully. "If I were younger, even by ten years, I wouldn't let you near another man... keep you all to myself. But I'm not and I can't change that." He looked at her beseechingly. "I do care for you, so very much. And because I do, I want to see you happy and I can't see how that could be with me. "

He watched as acceptance settled in her expression. She sighed deeply and pressed her lips together as if fighting more tears. "I... think I understand. And I want to be happy. Trouble is, I can't see how that could be _without_ you." She glanced around nervously and fidgeted with his handkerchief, her eyes finally landing on a spot on the floor in front of her. "It's alright. I... I'll go back to Adam's for now. I'll need to find something else soon though because I know... well, I think he's going to ask and I just can't... it wouldn't be fair to him for me to accept."

Foyle sighed heavily. It wasn't quite the end of the conversation that he'd hoped for but at least she was letting go the notion of him. And she wouldn't marry Adam unless she loved him. He couldn't let himself wonder at the relief that created in him.

Sam returned to her job at the guest house that night. And also that night, Christopher Foyle lay in his bed and wept as he hadn't done since the night after he'd buried his wife.


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter sort of breezes past a lot, running straight through The Hide and into Foyle's return from America. Once again, canon will be altered, this time with the time Foyle was away. In the show reference was made to Foyle having hounded Paige for six months. If you include travel time and time for Foyle to locate Paige and start to get at him, the least amount of time he was away was seven months and canon hints at longer. That won't work for my story and hopefully the why will be revealed before too long ;-)

Many thanks for all the lovely reviews. I do love this fandom :-) You all are fantabulous!

Oh, and you will recognize dialogue at the end as being taken straight from the show. All credit is due to Horowitz and the writers, as well as the wonderful MK himself as I'm sure he had input.

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Weeks passed and the time for Foyle's replacement was nearing. There'd been another murder, this time involving the Americans, and some robberies. As it turned out, all the events centered around Adam's guests which meant Foyle spent more time around Sam than he'd intended. He had stopped by with some fish one day, offering it to them for a meal. He couldn't explain why exactly, except that he needed to see her, needed to know she was alright. The looks they'd exchanged that evening after she insisted he join them for the fish dinner had been delightful, fraught with emotion, and nearly had him dragging her off to his house. But he didn't, leaving her to her new life instead. Then the investigations brought him around to the house a few times and by the time it was concluded, all of his self control was required to keep from touching her. He knew that if he touched her, his resolve would be lost. Now that their feelings were more open, every glance held special meaning, every conversation became a kick in his chest, and every night was torture for him.

Also as he finished his time with the Hastings Constabulary, he checked for any reports of attacks similar to Sam's in his jurisdiction and surrounding ones. But there was nothing. Not that he wished such horror on another young woman, but he did want to find justice for Sam. And in moments of renewed rage, he recognized that he wanted to be the one to mete it out.

At last the day of his retirement came and he nearly skipped out of the Police Station with excitement. Finally he was free from the bureaucracy that had made his work such a challenge for so long and he could go to America in pursuit of some long awaited justice. Hands in his pockets, he sauntered through the halls and out the door, closing the book on that part of his life and ready to take on something new.

His happiness was short lived, however, as he spied a news headline on a corner, just after meeting his brother-in-law, Charles Howard. Charles had arranged for his trip across the Atlantic in just a short while. But the headlines made Foyle pause. _Devereaux... haven't heard that name in years._ Christopher bought a paper and skimmed it quickly, memories from nearly thirty years past washing through him. _Oh Caroline,_ he sighed as he read the article. This was her son, possibly his and as he studied the picture of the young man staring back at him from the page he understood that is was probable; he looked too much like Christopher's father to deny a connection. She had sent him away from her all those years ago to return to her husband for the child's sake. But she had died eight years later and now it was his duty to help her son... _my son._

He met with the boy's solicitor. He met with the boy. And he met with the father, Caroline's husband. His task lay before him and it promised to be a difficult one. In the midst of his inner turmoil over past anguish, Sam called him; Adam had been taken to the station. And because Sam asked, he went to look after Adam. His mind was full of James Devereaux as he delivered Adam back to the guest house but even so, Sam's gratitude for his help almost diverted him. As wrapped up as he was in his own investigation, Adam's and therefore Sam's investigation into the land up on the green made him pause. But his attention was needed elsewhere, so this time he did not run to Sam's aid. Besides, he reasoned, this might be an opportunity for Adam to make a good impression on Sam, might give her a chance to see him in a different light.

Caroline's dear son had been sentenced to hang and Christopher was scrambling for answers, when Milner's murder investigation and the girl's landlady brought everything into the light. Now armed with most of the story, Foyle returned to the prison to confront James and get the truth out of him. In the process, Foyle revealed more than he'd set out to. But seeing the expression in the young man's eyes, relief almost, at the revelation that Foyle could possibly be his father gave him some solace. And on the final meeting, when Christopher was able to tell the young man that he would soon be free and that there would be justice for his mother, the detective was left with a feeling of satisfaction. James, or Jack as he preferred, would never be his son in the sense that Andrew was his son. But there was a connection. And more importantly, he had fulfilled his duty to the boy and to Caroline. Now he was truly free to go to America, except...

Sam agreed to drive him to the docks and return his car to Steep Lane, where it would await Foyle's return from America. Foyle thought Adam might accompany her, but he discovered on the drive to the port that she hadn't asked Adam. "I... I wanted this bit of time alone with you before you go," she admitted as she kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Christopher's eyes widened. He'd made a point of seeing as little of Sam as possible since she'd left his house all those nights ago. He'd hoped that as she healed, she would begin to look elsewhere for her future. "Sam..." he said softly, not exactly certain what he wanted to say beyond that.

"Oh, I know. We aren't to speak of... of things until your return. But I just... I've seen so little of you and you seemed distracted and well, I just needed this time. But don't worry, I won't make a scene at the dock or anything. I just... " Her sigh was heavy and emotion filled.

"Sam..." this time his voice was full of emotion, sadness, disappointment, and trepidation. "I hope you will use this time as a chance to ... erm... consider your future?"

She sighed again, not a good sign in Foyle's mind. But she said no more about it. Instead, she asked rather sheepishly, "Will... would you write me? Tell me what it's like there? And how you are getting on?"

Yup, think I can manage that," he said more cheerfully than he was feeling. "Send it to the guest house?"

"No," she answered abruptly. Then coloring a bit as she realized how it sounded, she took a deep breath. "Adam asked and I said no. I'll leave at the end of the week."

Foyle's brow furrowed. "You... you don't want to marry him?"

"Never said I did; in fact, I recall telling you that I did not." She glanced at him briefly before turning her eyes back to the road.

"So, ummm... where do I write to you?"

"Oh, right. Well, I hope I don't have to return to Lyminister. Perhaps send in care of Uncle Aubrey. He'll know where I am and he won't be as inquisitive as my parents."

"Sam, I'm not likely to write anything that your parents would not approve of."

"Yes, I know. But I've worked so hard to gain my independence from them, you see. And I don't want to have to explain anything to them."

The inside of Foyle's cheek took a beating as his tongue thrashed against it before he began to gnaw a bit. Her insistence that he not write her in care of her parents was baffling, but he supposed it made sense to her. Shifting in his seat to gauge her reactions more closely, his eyes furrowed as he tried to decipher Sam Stewart. "Nnot likely they'd think anything much of it; just your old boss telling you a bit about America. And Sam, you have to know that if I were to agree to anything between us when I get back, I'd need to have a word with your father anyway."

The small smile that quirked at the corner of her lips both worried and amused him. She really hadn't let go the notion of the two of them. Turning his gaze back out to the passing scenery, he gnawed again at his inner cheek. Hopefully, by the time he got back her mind would be elsewhere.

The voyage to America was a tedious one. His few months there weres displeasing, even with the few excursions to the attractions nearby. The days were busy with finding a way to find some amount of justice for Richard Hunter and his family. His nights were filled with thoughts and dreams of Sam. And in the end, entire trip was unsettling and unsatisfactory. He'd managed to expose Howard Paige for the murderer and scoundrel he was and secure a promise from the board of directors at Paige's company that young Hunter would get the help he needed for mechanical training. Leaving it at that, he boarded the first ship he could book passage on. He'd written to Sam a few times, mostly telling her about the sights and amusing anecdotes about the locals he encountered along the way. He'd heard nothing back from her, which was to be expected since he hadn't stayed in one place. Still, his trip back to England was filled with thoughts of her and the looming question whether he should find her or leave things as they were.

Fate took him in hand however, when he was accosted by some of Hilda Pierce's people as he disembarked and pulled into her investigation. Hilda Pierce informed him that "Circumstances have arisen in which we feel we have a need of your help."

"Circumstances being... the end of the war?" He shot back.

"If only it had ended. We have a new war, a new enemy," Pierce told him. Foyle looked at her questioningly. Her assistant, Mr. Valentine added, " The Soviets".

"George Orwell calls it the Cold War, and I think that might prove apposite," Pierce concluded.

And of course, Sam was in the middle of it all.


	9. Chapter 9

_You will recognize much of the beginning dialogue from the series. Credit goes to Anthony Horowitz and any others who contributed to the writing effort. I do however, change things up a bit as you will see if you read further._

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Christopher knew the instant he saw Sam that something was wrong, terribly wrong. Watching her from across the road, he could see her unhappiness; it was if the life had gone out of her. The way she picked at her food over lunch increased his worry. She was terribly unhappy and it hurt to see her that way. It wasn't until she tracked him down at his hotel that she told him exactly why. Her employer had learned that Foyle had used Sam to gain access to him and Sam had been sacked. She was infuriated and even though Foyle hadn't intended to use her in quite that way, he conceded that he'd been wrong. Still, something was terribly amiss with her and he told her so, asking what it was. "It's clear, certainly to me from the moment I saw you, That there's something wrong. You're not yourself; there's something you're hiding. What is it?"

She'd looked away, tried to avoid his gaze. "it's rather a personal thing, and I'd really rather not."

His hands were clasped in front of him in an effort to contain the growing concern he felt. Anguish rolled through him as he witnessed her own anguish. "Can I help?"

"Nobody can help," she said as she looked off to the side and wiped some tears away. "Um...I... I'm pregnant," she blurted as more tears escaped her eyes.

Foyle felt his eyes go wide at her admission. His heart nearly stopped beating as he tried to digest it. His stomach tightened as waves of despair rolled through him. When he finally thought he might have a voice, he barely was able to whisper, "Ppregnant?"

Tears were rolling down her face as she watched him, seeing the emotion that was written on his face with such rare openness. Swallowing was difficult as she nodded affirmation.

His eyes flitted to her left hand. _No ring..._ "You um... it isn't... Adam?"

Sam's face colored as she shook her head no. "Those... men... the attack. "

Bile rose in his throat along with the anger he'd never been able to put to rest. Seeing the fear and anguish in her face, he knew he had to get his emotions under control. "Yyour parents know?"

This time her head shook abruptly. "No... oh no, I couldn't tell them. It would..." she began to sob.

Daring to reach across and take her hand, he encased it in both of his. "Sam, you... you need to tell them." He was speaking as a parent, he knew. But he could only think that if he had a daughter and she was in such trouble he would want to know, to help.

"I can't," she sobbed. "Father would lock me in my room at home and Mother... this would... I just don't think she could bear it."

Thinking back to his one brief encounter with her father, Foyle admitted to himself that she might have a point. And he'd known her mother was frail but had never been certain if it was a real condition or one put upon her by Sam's father. "So what are your plans then?"

"I... I was going to work for as long as I could and I've been saving. I thought I'd go away and..." she sniffled, "hhave it and then find someone to adopt it."

"You weren't planning to keep the baby then?" Foyle was somewhat surprised to hear she'd give it up.

"I... I couldn't. I mean, how could I? No husband, no job, and... and it would always remind me... of that night, I think."

"No young man hovering about?"

"No. And even if there was one, he wouldn't want... this," she said as she patted her middle.

Foyle blinked as he watched her action, somewhat mesmerized by her motion, noticing how tight her dress was over her barely concealed bump. _She's probably got that about right._ "Oh Sam..." he sighed as he squeezed her hand.

She looked at him, fresh tears trailing down her face. "I... know this changes... I mean, we were meant to talk again after you came back. But now... I know you wouldn't..." Shoulders sagging, it seemed as if all the life suddenly drained out of Sam.

"Sam," he struggled, "if I thought there was any chance of you being happy with me, this wouldn't matter at all. At least, not as far as my feelings for you." He paused, knowing he'd not exactly said that well. "What I mean to say is that it doesn't change how I feel, Sam. What happened to you was unspeakable and if I had an inkling of who those men were, I'd..."

"But don't you see, that's why I didn't want to report it, officially, I mean. I was afraid you'd... Well, I saw how angry you were and if I... you might have done something you'd regret later and I couldn't ... wouldn't allow that."

Closing his eyes in an effort to corral his emotions, Foyle remembered the anger from that night and the days that followed. He also remembered how adamant she's been about not filing a report. Even now when he thought of that night he felt an overwhelming desire to flush out those men and administer his own justice. "You're right Sam, I would have done something. But I wouldn't regret it, not one iota. But that's no help to you now." He paused to give some more organized thought to her situation. "Look, I have a bit put by. You could go someplace, pretend to be a war widow or something and have the baby. No one need be the wiser, just our little secret."

"But how long would I have to stay... away... from you?" Her dark eyes looked at him with such devastation that he felt his heart ripping from his chest.

"Ummm," he rubbed his forehead just above his eye. "I don't know, Sam. For your own sake, it should be forever. But if you truly don't want this baby, then I should think you'd be free to return to your usual life soon after it is born."

"That's awfully kind of you to ... to offer. I need to think about it. In the meantime, since you bloody well lost me my job, I think the least you could do is to let me help you find out what is going on."

"Sam, no. You... you're pregnant. You can't just go running about London with me as I try to work this out."

"But don't you need a driver... so you can think?"

As always, Sam won in the end and Christopher let her drive him. But she was under strict instruction to stay with the car and out of danger. Of course that lasted only a few moments.


	10. Chapter 10

Once again, there will be dialogue straight from the series. And once again credit must go to Horowitz and the others who created this exceptional show.

Many thanks for the reviews. Keep them coming folks, they feed the little plot bunnies and keep me typing.

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A part of Christopher Foyle was happy to have Sam back in the car with him as they investigated, but a greater part of him worried about the possible dangers. They had faced several when she was his driver during the war and had been shot at and chased when he'd allowed her to go with him to London to find the young Russian. And he he was again possibly putting her in danger. He had no way of knowing, however, that Sam would encounter something much less straight forward than any of the bombs or other dangers she avoided during the war.

As the investigation led them to Marc Vlessing and they approached his building, Sam asked "How're we going to get in there?"

"With a key," Foyle replied as he pulled one from his pocket.

"Where'd you get that?"

Remembering a similar conversation early in her tenure with him, Christopher answered, "I 'liberated' it."

"Is this quite legal?" Sam was somewhat surprised by his insouciance about it but then remembered his praise of her for lifting the pub owner's keys. "Well done," he'd told her.

"Well, it's not at all legal, but the security service doesn't seem to have much regard for the law," he replied dryly as he stepped through the door to the building.

They'd only been poking about Vlessing's flat a few minutes and Foyle had just sighted an important piece of evidence when the door burst open and men in masks barged in, taking them into custody and shuffling them off to a building that was obviously a a part of security services.

Foyle blanched when he was told that they had been exposed to radiation. He insisted that Sam be taken back to her flat immediately. The whole case was a muck up and now he had allowed her to be exposed to such horrifying danger. He was angry with Hilda Pierce and even more so, himself. On the other hand, he'd watched Sam come back to life while they investigated. And somewhere in the back of his mind the idea began to grow that perhaps a match between them wasn't quite so unthinkable.

Once he'd had the time to sift through the information he'd gathered and put the final pieces of the puzzle in place, catching the head of MI5 in the net and uncovering Sam's former scientist boss as a spy, he wanted to bolt from Pierce's service and return to a quiet life in Hastings. As they rode in her car following the is departure from the home of Sam's former boss, she approached him about staying on with her agency.

"I'll come straight to the point. I want you to stay with MI5," Hilda Pierce told him.

"What on Earth makes you think I'd do that?" He wanted nothing more to do with her service.

"Well, you always wanted to be part of the Service," she replied.

"I applied once during the War and was rejected," he reminded her. "They had their chance."

"This is no time for hurt feelings. This is business. You're very good at what you do, and I'd like to work with you." Her tone nor her inflection changed not at all.

Dourly Foyle responded, "I haven't got the requisite capacity for deceit."

"Precisely. I need someone I can trust."

He worked his mouth as he responded. "Well, that would be mutual."

Dipping her head in concession, Pierce rejoined. "Point taken. Oh, come on, Foyle. what's the alternative? What are you going to do the rest of your life? Fish? Bigger fish to be caught here."

"Nnup, not just fishing. Plenty of fish big enough in the river though." he answered. "Have other plans as well." _Might just be the one on the hook now..._

That evening Foyle took Sam to dinner at a quiet place he'd found near his hotel. "I'll go home to Hastings now," he told her over the starters.

"Jolly good," she said with forced enthusiasm.

"Right. And what are your plans now?"

"I don't know really. Find a job, I suppose. I thought London might be a good place to sort of hide away until after... well, the baby. But without a job I can't stay here long."

Christopher watched as various emotions played over her face. She'd never really been very good at hiding her feelings but tonight he was finding her especially easy to read. What struck him the most however, was how so very much she had matured in the months he was away. He supposed what happened to her was responsible for much of her change. Sam would always be Sam with cheerful enthusiasm but the naiveté was gone. His mouth twitched as he considered the shift; he would miss that. "I ththought it might be about time to um, have that talk?" He felt vulnerable, his emotions far too exposed but if there was to be any hope he knew things must be said.

Her eyes brightened immediately as her head lifted to look across the table at him. "You, you mean that talk you mentioned before you left for America?"

"Yes, that one," he replied uneasily. "I um, I've been thinking, as I suggested you should do as well. Aand although I still can't see how it would be to your benefit in the long term, I erm, I thought that... well, if you are still interested we might... well, take up... together?" Even he could hear the worried timbre of his voice.

The face that beamed across the table from him now was one he hadn't seen in some time. Her eyes lit like candles and all the worry of the past months seemed to simply fall away in an instant. "Oh, I say... that... that's amazing," she said happily. "I thought... well, I never dared hope, after what you'd said before you left," she smiled and sighed. "Oh this is jolly good, marvelous. Oh Christopher... I can call you Christopher now, can't I? I mean it would be awfully awkward if I just kept calling you Mr. Foyle or sir, wouldn't it?"

Bolstered by the obvious happiness expressed by the woman who was certain to be the last love of his life, Christopher simply sat contently and watched the heartening emotions play through her. _You've done this, you old bugger. You've brought the joy back to her... you. Maybe it'll work after all. At least for awhile. Anything to make her happy... just you remember that when it comes time to let go._

Then suddenly she deflated again. "But if you're in Hastings and I'm here or... somewhere else, how can we? I mean, we couldn't very well step out together if we're in different places."

This time it was Foyle who smiled, a small one at first but slowly it grew until the corners of his mouth began to turn down. "Nnot talking about stepping out, Sam. We've known each other long enough and seen one another in enough different circumstances; I think we both know the landscape. Tthought we might marry, if you'll have me?"

Sam stared at him, stunned. "But, we can't... the... the baby..." and then tears began to trickle down her face.

Sam recognized the pensive, almost anguished look that came over his face as he looked away. She watched as he seemed to have an internal conversation. She'd watched him in profile so many times and always enjoyed the examination, but just now as his eyelashes fluttered she was struck at how beautiful he was. Oh, not in the way a woman might be beautiful of course, but in his own very masculine and yet very vulnerable way. She observed when his inner conversation seemed to conclude and his gaze turned back to her. "Sam, are you certain you don't want the child? Bbecause if you are planning to have it adopted because ... well, what people might say or..." He paused as the waiter brought their next course.

"I can't," she cried once they were alone again. "Don't you see, it would be ..." she paused as she fumbled for words.

"If we are married at the time of the birth, then legally it would be my child, Sam. And I wouldn't abandon it, or you. But if you truly think you can't bear to keep it, then I will help you, of course."

"Are... are you saying you'd let me keep it?" She was astounded.

"If it is what you want. But more than just let you keep the child; I... I'd be its father, if you'll let me? I'd expect to... to raise it just as I raised Andrew. Wull, except you'd be there with me, of course."

Studying his face, she sought answers. Her own face revealed just how taken aback she was and how confused she was. "Sam, you need to be very certain what it is you wish to do. If you honestly don't want the child, there is no shame in it. But if you find you do want the child, then I am prepared to be a father to it. I am not speaking from pity, just... wull, " he looked at her hoping she could see what he was feeling, see how much he cared for her. "I'm asking you to marry me for all the usual reasons a man wants to marry a woman, Sam."

Foyle watched as she absorbed it all. Her eyes narrowed in thought and she opened her mouth to speak but took a deep breath instead. "No, I can see that it isn't pity. But I'm not sure... about... What I mean is... why?"

Her question confused him. The waiter's return with another course gave him time to collect himself. "Why not?" he asked with wide eyes once the server was gone. "Just a minute ago you were quite eager, I thought... to step out together at least."

"I... was," she said as she looked down sorrowfully. "But then I remembered..."

"The baby," he concluded. She nodded her head in affirmation. But her eyes remained downcast and tears continued to seep from them slowly. Reaching across, he covered her hand with his. "It isn't a problem for me." Grimacing at his own ineptitude, he scrambled to find a way to explain. "What I mean to say is that the baby is a part of you, Sam. It's that which would make possible my caring for it." When she still didn't look up, he knew he had to say more. "Oh my darling girl, don't you realize how very much I care for you... love you? And because I do, I will love your child too."

Slowly her head came up and she looked at him with sorrow filled eyes. "But it isn't yours and the way it... those men... it was so..." She let out a muffled sob. "And I'm... I'm not worthy of your... love."

"Mmore the other way round, I would think, I'm struggling too Sam, to believe you care for me... tthat way. Wwhat those men did to you disgusts me and angers me. But that is down to them. Everything about you brings me happiness and comfort. And should you decide to keep the child, I shall see you when I look at it, not those men or what they did to you. But whether you keep it or not, I... wull, I just can't imagine not having you around. I've become... well, rather attached to your presence. Ccan't begin to tell you how much I missed you while I was away."

The tears abated as she listened and watched his face. He saw when she made her decision. A look of acceptance came over her face. "If you truly mean all that, then yes... I would like to marry you, very much."

His lips quirked downward in the distinctive Foyle smile as gratification sank in. "As soon as we can then?"

She nodded, a ghost of a smile lifting at the corner of her mouth. I...I'll need to tell my parents, of course. But I don't think I'd care to wait for the big wedding my mother will want to plan."

"Right, wull then... the magistrate then? Perhaps before we leave London?"

"Oh yes," she said brightly.

The rest of the meal went quickly. "See you back to your flat?" he suggested as they stepped out of the cafe. "That would be lovely," she replied as she hooked her arm through his. As they walked along the pavement toward her place, Christopher reflected on how delightful it was to have a woman on his arm again. It had been too many years, he thought as the loneliness of those years began lifting from his shoulders.

His mind was whirring however, as they walked along. Sam was almost six months along. She was hiding the pregnancy well but soon it would be impossible. And returning to Hastings with a heavily pregnant but very new wife would be difficult to explain for them both; especially if she decided to give up the child. Better to travel a bit, let the child be born elsewhere, and then return to Hastings, he decided.

Spying a small park, he suggested they sit for a moment. They found a bench near the entrance and settled. Foyle shared his thoughts about when to return to Hastings and asked if she had a place in mind for the birth of her child. Sam admitted that she hadn't really thought it through but seemed to agree with his thoughts.

"Alright. I'll apply for a license and then you can give your parents a date," he said.

"Right," she said uneasily as she fidgeted with her hands. "I'll have to tell them, I suppose. I just... it won't be easy."

"And the baby? Will you tell them about that?"

"No!," she declared so abruptly it startled him. "I...I couldn't. And anyway, it would only make my father believe you married me out of pity... or worse, he'd think you had... well, that I'm PWP because of you."

"Sam, if you decide to keep the child then I would sincerely hope that is exactly what everyone would think."

She looked shocked. "Oh no, they mustn't think that! No, you're far too honorable to... to do _that_."

Christopher grinned sorrowfully at her. "You're a very clever girl, Sam; but I don't think you've considered the mathematics of my life. Rosalind was over eight years younger than me when we married and was just twenty one when Andrew was born, six and a half months after our wedding..." He paused to let that sink in and then told her something she couldn't have known anything about. "Aand in 1917, when I was recovering from a wound, I met a nurse. She was married but we ... well, ... she was very beautiful and I... " he closed his eyes against the wave of emotions that washed through him whenever he thought of Caroline. "She um, had a son, went back to her husband when she found out she was pregnant; thought it would be best for the child. But she died when he was a boy and his father was... well, not a kind man. I met her son just before I left for America and although I always knew in all likelihood he was ... well, after meeting him I think it is almost certain that I fathered him. And as it happened, the man who he had called Father, killed his mother. Point is that I'm not as purely honorable as you seem to believe. I've loved, truly loved three women in my life, possibly four. And I've never been particularly patient about ... waiting." His gaze at her was pointed, full of meaning, an expression she knew very well.

"That many? Golly... " She looked away for a moment and Christopher could see her running the tally in her mind so he was prepared when she asked her question. "Four?"

Fighting to contain the smile that quirked at the corner of his mouth, he looked away for a moment. Then bringing his gaze back to her, he let the smile blossom simply because he could not contain it. He loved this dear girl so very much and it made him happy just to look at her. "You remember when you drove me to the dinner at Arthur Lewes' house? It's where I met Howard Paige. "

"Yes, the barrister," she replied with an eager nod.

"Right. His wife, Elizabeth grew up near Hastings. I courted her... before the war, the first one. Asked her father for her hand. But I wasn't good enough for his daughter and we went our separate ways. I met Arthur later through our jobs and when he found out Elizabeth and I were acquainted, he sought friendship. Elizabeth and Rosalind were acquainted before too, so it was impossible not to... But then he moved up to London and it all seemed to settle, at least for me. I was far happier with Rosalind than I believe I ever could have been with Elizabeth. I learned that night at the dinner that she named her second son Christopher." Seeing Sam's eyes widen, he smiled. "Not mine," he said quickly. "But as I watched her that night, I realized I would have been miserable with her and so I believe I have her father to thank for saving me from that."

"But you thought you loved her?"

"I was still wet behind the ears, Sam. I didn't understand, truly understand what love is. Caroline and later Rosalind showed me."

She seemed to be absorbing all he had said. He was a little amazed with himself that he had spoken so openly and freely with her about it all. But he wanted her to understand, to know who he really was. And that wouldn't happen if he kept it all inside. Rosalind had taught him that. "So you see, there's a bit more to me than what you thought. Still want to marry me, Sam?"

"Trying to back out?" she asked.

"Nup, just giving you fair warning."

"Actually, I was thinking... since you have a history of impatience and I'm already PWP..."

He tensed as he leapt ahead of where she was leading. "Sam, you don't have to... it might be too soon for you, after... what happened."

Her brow furrowed in her wonderfully Sam contemplative expression. "The doctor said I've healed from that, everything's tickity boo. So I don't see the problem unless... well, you'd rather not because I _am_ PWP."

"Not that, Sam. But I meant, wull... what happened is bound to make it a bit off putting, I would think... that particular activity."

"What those men did, it wasn't love. They didn't care about me they just wanted... well, you know. And... and it's true that I don't think I could take lightly having a man touch me.. like that. Not that I ever did before but... " She pressed her lips together as thoughts formed in that adorable head of hers. "I can't imagine anything better than being taught that part of love by... you."

His lips turned downward in a smile as he let her meaning settle over him. "Wull, I thank you for that, Sam. But I'm 'fraid you might be 'specting bit much? I'm teetering on old age and not up to teaching much of anything there, I would think."

"What I expect is for you to be as considerate of me in that as you have been in everything else.," her eyes were pleading with him.

"Might be able to just manage that," he replied. "But suppose we begin with simple things, a little kissing and petting? Mmmm?"

"Oh jolly good! I like that," she answered brightly.

They finished the walk to her flat arm in arm and he kissed her goodnight, a warm loving kiss but nothing untoward in his mind. Remembering the words of Dr. Josephson months before, Christopher knew he shouldn't press, no matter what Sam said.


	11. Chapter 11

Everyone has been so kind. Your nice reviews and commentaries keep the little energizer plot bunnies going... and going... and going, as you will see here. No rotten tomatoes for this one please; I don't much like tomatoes.

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Their wedding was arranged quickly, well as quickly as could be considering the bureaucratic red tape involved and the scores of returning soldiers wishing to get married as well.

They told Andrew about it all over dinner one evening. His initial reaction had been astonishment to be quickly followed by a bit of pique. Christopher could see that his son was hurt by it and tried to decipher if it was because he thought his mother was being replaced by Sam or if it was because Sam had rejected Andrew after a paltry attempt at a reunion and was now accepting him. Either way, Christopher wasn't pleased with Andrew's attitude toward either of them and told him so.

Andrew stewed for two days and showed up on Christopher's doorstep on the third. "Thought I might take you and Sam to a celebratory lunch," he said merrily.

"Thought you didn't approve," Christopher replied icily.

"Look Dad, I'm sorry. I just... you caught me unawares, is all. I am happy you've found someone. And... Sam, well... I think she always cared more for you than me anyway. I teased her once that she'd eventually agree to marry me if only to have you as her father in law. But after thinking about it, and seeing you together the other night, I can see it is genuine and... well, if the war taught us anything, it's to grab happiness whenever you can. Just took me a little time to get used to it. And I suppose my pride was a bit wounded too. Hey, at least she'll be a Foyle now... part of the family. I'll be alright with it, I promise."

They did have that lunch, where Andrew apologized to Sam for his boorish behavior. And while all three of them knew things would be uneasy for awhile as Andrew adjusted to the idea of his father and Sam, they also knew it would be fine in the end.

Reverend and Mrs. Stewart proved to be a bit more complicated, neither able to grasp why their only daughter should marry a man more than two decades older than she. It was Aubrey Stewart who approached them most reasonably. But Christopher understood when even he expressed concern and he made a trip to London to voice it.

"I understand completely," Foyle told his soon to be uncle by marriage when they met . "Sam's still young and it must seem to you and her parents as if I might be taking advantage of her. I assure you that it is not my intention. I care for her very much and she assures me she returns those feelings. My one regret is that she'll most likely be left a widow at a young age. Until then, however, I intend to do everything possible to see to her happiness."

"Oh, I don't doubt any of that, Christopher. I suppose we were all rather caught unexpectedly. She's had one or two prospects, younger men and we'd hoped with the young men returning she would finally settle down. We had no idea that her choice was in front of us all along," Aubrey said. "Although, I will admit I saw that she was rather admiring of you when you both visited the vicarage that time, but if you felt anything beyond companionship for her then, I certainly did not see it."

"Right, well... to be fair, I'm not sure either of us recognized it either, not until recently."

"One question her father will have when he arrives and while I'm not completely comfortable asking but feel I must is this. This isn't a marriage of necessity, is it?"

Christopher looked into the clergyman's eyes and answered honestly. "I asked Sam to marry me after trying to deny to her and to myself how strongly I care for her. I told her once that I she is invaluable and I couldn't go anywhere without her. The truth of that was made clear to me on my journey to America. Even so, I returned with the intention of staying away from her but fate intervened and brought us together again. My erm, willpower only goes so far. I couldn't deny what I feel any longer and you can, um, imagine my surprise when she admitted her feelings for me? She convinced me that our union would not be inappropriate. As I told her, I am marrying her for all the usual reasons."

The vicar responded, "Sam visited me after you left for America. I have never seen her so forlorn. I honestly feared for her... emotionally. It was a relief when she found a job because I thought it might help take her mind off of her melancholy. And it did help, but the melancholy remained. I was relieved when seeing her upon my arrival this morning, she is more herself."

"Right... wull, I did see some of that when I came back. And it was when I asked her about it... that's when we admitted our feelings."

After a few solemn moments, the older man smiled. "Yes, yes... I've always thought you had a fondness for my niece and I can see now that it is more than just a little. I can also see that this perhaps comes as much of a shock to you as it has to her family?"

Christopher's mouth angled down as his eyes twinkled in agreement. He rubbed his fingers across his brow and then spoke. "A shock, yes. Still can't believe that Sam can have such regard for me. Also, erm... feeling very fortunate?"

Aubrey Stewart nodded affably and the conversation moved on to other topics. The three of them had dinner that night and put Aubrey on a train the next morning after getting a promise from him that he would be back for the wedding.

Christopher bought them lunch and walked her back to her flat. "Mmight be good to have a lie down?" he suggested at her door, having noticed how tired she seemed.

"Yes, I do feel a bit off," she admitted. "Perhaps you're right. Will I see you later?"

"I'll come around for tea? Mmmm, bring something to eat in?"

"Sounds lovely," she said, her eyes looking almost fevered. She looked pale too, he thought. "You be alright until then?"

"Yes, just tired," she insisted.

"Right," he replied, unconvinced. "Wull, I'll erm... stay near my phone, should you need me then..." He kissed her gently on her forehead and watched as she disappeared behind her door. She gave him a faint smile as she closed it, leaving him standing in the hall staring worriedly at her door.

Christopher stopped in at the tailor's shop for a quick fitting on his new suit. He hadn't bought any new ones in years and thought perhaps he should for his wedding. As he stood in front of the mirror while the tailor fussed and preened over the suit, pinning here and marking there, Christopher stared at his reflection. A small grimace worked across his face as he took in the whole of himself standing there. Yes, he was still fit and trim, well as fit and trim as a man his age could expect to be. But the lines in his face were deepening and the hair kept receding or was turning greyer with each day, and the skin sagged in places, and... He sighed. _What could Sam see in him?_ He looked more like a father of the bride than a groom. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment as he tried to imagine himself in ten years, or even five, and wondered what she would think of him then when the hair had thinned more and what was left was white and the lines had turned into bags and jowls and fit and trim meant he could still wear the same clothes because he'd lost muscle and the remaining skin sagged. How long would it be until she came to him asking for her freedom? His mouth twitched as he renewed his promise that he would let her go when the time came. But would his heart be able to stand it, he wondered.

After the fitting ended, Christopher headed to his own flat. He had some letters to write, more like announcements of his intended nuptials to friends and distant family. There was no expectation that any of them would travel to London for the wedding and honestly, he preferred that they did not. But they had worried over him after Rosalind's death and continued offer support and care over the years and deserved to hear that he had good news to share.

Later, when Foyle returned to her flat, he found Sam worse, very much worse. "Right then," he said. "Getting you looked at." Sam needed help down the steps and once he had her in his car, he drove as quickly as he could to the hospital, where of course he was mistaken for her father. Not one to pass on opportunity, however, he allowed the mistake to continue so that he could remain close to Sam.

Of course, he wasn't allowed in her room for the examination but remained in the hall just outside. It wasn't a conscious decision on his part; he simply couldn't bear to be too far away when Sam might need him, or want him. The doctor appeared a lengthy quarter hour later and looked at him quizzically. "She presents as a victim of radiation poisoning," the doctor explained dubiously.

"Radiation?" Foyle asked. "Sshe was exposed to a small dose a fortnight ago. Checked out by a doctor then and said to be fine."

"She said she had been ill for a day or two but it passed. More recently, she's had a mild headache and growing fatigue. And apparently the baby suffered from it," explained the doctor. "Your daughter is having a miscarriage. And she is ill. Perhaps it is the miscarriage but more likely her body trying to manage the radiation too. I can help her with the radiation sickness but the baby won't stand a chance. Or I can try to stop the miscarriage but it will delay treatment for the radiation. I will add though, that even if I can stop the miscarriage at this point, the baby's chances would be slim. And it would most likely be born with some deformity."

Christopher bit the inside of his cheek mercilessly. He'd allowed this to happen, letting her get so mixed up in his investigation. Closing his eyes to fight back the rage that engulfed him, anger at himself, at the men who attacked her, anger with the world that seemed so determined to crush Samantha Stewart, he had but one thought. "Doctor, the baby is the result of an attack. She neither knows the father of the child nor wants the child. She planned to have it adopted after giving birth. She will be upset that the child is lost, but it is _her life_ you protect," he said emphatically.

The doctor's eyes grew wide and then he nodded. "Thank you. I know how to proceed now."

"And she will be alright?" Foyle had to know.

"Yes, in time she should be. She'll need a long rest after this though. And she should consult with her own doctor before another pregnancy, have the effects of the radiation monitored for awhile. The exposure seems to be minimal so I would think that once she has regained her strength there wouldn't be any difficulty. But we really don't know much about the lasting effects; we're still learning, you see. "

Christopher's stomach dropped. Sam wanted children, he knew. She didn't deserve this, the worry, the threat to her own future dreams. "Right, then rest she will get. And when can I see her?"

"Let's get the antibiotics started and I'll have a sister fetch you, hmmm?"

Foyle nodded. Having been through the hospital routine before, he understood the procedure and could be patient now that he knew he was not in danger of losing Sam. The waiting area was too far down the hall, however; so he settled against the opposite wall and waited.


	12. Chapter 12

She was asleep by the time he was allowed in the room so Christopher contented himself with sitting in a chair next to her bed, watching her. He sat a vigil for hours, watching her every breath it seemed. The sisters came and went, checking on her and appearing busy with adjustments to her medications and such. Usually he received little more than a glance and a smile from them, but one looked at him askance, as if she didn't believe he was Sam's father. Which of course, he was not. But it reminded him to be careful. He'd been holding her hand and occasionally brushing his fingers along her jaw. Sometimes he talked to her and his words were certainly _not_ what a father should say to a daughter. But thankfully the suspicious sister had not overheard that.

Sam woke in the late night, or early morning, Christopher wasn't entirely certain. All he knew was the relief he felt when her eyes opened and she looked at him. She seemed confused at first, her eyes questioning. He took her hand in both of his and spoke softly. "You're in hospital. The radiation exposure is what made you ill."

She nodded lethargically. "Is it bad? Like before?"

It took Christopher a moment to think what she was referring to. But of course, she was remembering when she had anthrax. "No, not like that," he hurriedly assured her. "Doctor's given you some medicine. But Sam..." He sighed, not wanting to tell her but knowing he must. "Yyou've lost the baby."

She stared at him as if she wasn't comprehending, making him wonder if he needed to repeat it. But after a moment her eyes blinked and then he saw some tears form. "I'm sorry its gone but..." she looked away and blinked again. Staring at the wall, she finished in a whisper, "part of me is relieved."

"Understandable," he said quietly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I didn't want it to ... die," she sniffled.

"Of course not. The doctor had to make a choice, love; and I told him to choose your life and continuing health over the baby. "

She nodded and released a deep breath and turned her head to look at him again. "Will I... can we... "

"He said you must rest after this. But in time, he thinks all will be well."

She seemed to be content with his answer. She looked down at her hands, a look of contemplation setting into her features. After a few moments she revealed her thoughts. "Good, because I want to have babies... your babies." She looked up at him again with such hope in her eyes, such longing, he thought his heart might stop.

Christopher wasn't quite so sure about having more children. He was a bit past all that, he thought. But as much as he doubted his own aspirations about the matter, he was equally certain he would agree to anything that made Sam happy. It would only hurt her for him to give voice to his worries just now. She was looking at him with such expectation that he knew he needed to respond, but how? "Wull, certainly looking forward to the effort," he finally said. "Don't know if I'm quite ready for the middle of the night awakenings if we succeed. But my darling, we'll take whatever joy we're granted."

A tired smile graced her lips as she closed her eyes, soaking in his sentiment. "Wish we were someplace where I could kiss you for that."

His smile grew unhurriedly down. "Soon enough, Sam. Jjust happy to know you'll be alright, will take my pleasure in that."

A week later Sam was out of the hospital and back in her flat, frustrated with Christopher's insistence that she rest. He spent the days with her, not allowing her to do much beyond reading, listening to the wireless, and resting. As evening approached, he would prepare a supper, eat with her, clean up, and then depart only to return the next morning in time to prepare a breakfast. And to add to her frustration, he would engage in nothing more than chaste kisses when he arrived and left. After three days, she'd had her fill and told him she was tired of being treated like an invalid.

"Might be but the doctor said you ..." He was quickly cut off by another outburst from her. "I know what he said and I am resting but I am so tired of these bloody walls, I think I shall scream."

Christopher watched the frustration twist her face, her dear sweet beautiful face that he'd come to cherish so deeply. This wasn't her usual frustration that created a somewhat endearing pout in her features. No, this was an angry, ugly frustration and he understood that she needed an outlet for it. "Wull, what would you suggest, then?" He asked calmly, hoping she'd come back with a reasonable answer.

"Oh," she huffed. "I don't know... anything. I just need to get out of this flat for awhile I think." She huffed again and looked down at her hands, then let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry. It isn't your fault that this happened."

"Not all, but I did allow you to help me with the investigation and that led to your stay in the hospital."

She looked at him contritely. "I'm sorry. I haven't given a thought to what you might be feeling in all this, other than..." Suddenly the floor was interesting and captured her attention, her face becoming a picture of regret.

"What is it, Sam? What's really bothering you?" His tone was gentle but firm.

She chewed at her lower lip, a miniature of a habit he was sometimes guilty of, although he tended to catch the inside corner. Still gazing at the floor, she took a quick breath. "It's just that... I keep expecting... now that the baby is gone... I keep wondering how long it will be until..." She grew quiet again.

"Wondering what, Sam?" He thought he knew where this was leading but he wanted her to say the words, to admit her fear and more importantly, he wanted to respond convincingly.

"Now that I... I'm not pregnant there's no need for you to... to marry me, is there? I keep expecting you to tell me that ... that it was all a mistake and you don't want...to marry me." Tears sat in her eyes, held back by determination, one that Christopher had seen in her at other times but not quite so forcefully.

Closing his eyes from the pain of her words, from the pain he knew she was feeling, he nearly wept himself. "Oh Sam," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "... wanting to marry you was never about the baby or what happened to you. I do love you, more than I let myself admit for the longest time because I thought it improper. Probably still is, but I can't deny it any longer. Expressing myself has never been easy, not with... such deep feelings involved. I'm such a failure, couldn't even hug Andrew and tell him I love him when he left for the RAF. And now, I've failed with you. I'm sorry that I've left you wondering; that I haven't made you feel secure enough in our plans. But I promise you, my darling, it was never about the baby and the fact that it was lost doesn't change anything for me. We're scheduled with the magistrate for Thursday and don't know about you, but I plan to be there. Even had a new suit made."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with the unshed tears. "You do love me, don't you? I mean, to have a new suit..." she said with a grin. This time it was he that cut her off, with a kiss, a real kiss on her lips, one that was deep and full of emotion, leaving no doubt as to his feelings.

* * *

I've been rereading the wonderful FW stories on this site. There are a few sitting out there, alone and forgotten, waiting to be finished. Just a hint to any of those authors that we'd love to see those stories resurface. With the series ended and no noises about any specials, fanfiction is our only hope to keep the FW world alive. And I know that having new stories feeds my own plot bunnies and I imagine it inspires others to contribute to the world of Foyle's War.


	13. Chapter 13

Short little mid week read. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Andrew Foyle appeared at his father's door early on Thursday morning. "Andrew, this is a surprise," the senior Foyle greeted him with a bright smile, something Andrew hadn't seen for so many years after his mother died but that his father wore more and more often in recent days. He knew it was down to Sam. "Thought I'd come take you to a wedding day breakfast," the younger Foyle said equally cheerfully.

Christopher eyed his son and felt a warmth go over him. Andrew had finally reconciled himself with their plans, his and Sam's. He supposed her recent bout with health had spurred the reconciliation, but Christopher was glad to see it no matter the reason. "Very kind of you," he nodded with another smile. "I'll um, just get my coat?"

As he waited, Andrew looked around the front room of the flat. It certainly had none of the charm or personality... or history of the house in Hastings. In fact, the place was rather dull and Spartan. Pulled from his thoughts as his father reappeared from the back he asked, "you and Sam going to live here or her place?"

"Neither," Christopher replied. "Going back to Hastings. Sam likes the house and I think we'll both be more comfortable there. I'll let her make whatever changes she wants, of course. Probably a bit too much of your mother still there for a new bride."

A pained look shot across Andrew's face but then changed to a melancholy smile. "You'll let me have anything of Mum's that Sam wants to get rid of, please Dad?"

"Of course," Christopher said as the two walked out the door.

The two Foyle men enjoyed a light breakfast, Andrew in deference to his father's lack of appetite and Christopher because he suddenly was feeling a case of disquiet. For once, Andrew understood his father easily. "Not getting nervous, are you Dad?" He enjoyed teasing his father but he was concerned too.

"Perhaps, a bit..." the senior Foyle replied working the inside of his cheek. "Still can't believe she'll have me, I suppose," he admitted.

"Dad, I think it's you she has wanted from the start. She only ever went out with me because you asked her too and then I think she just took pity on me later. You're the one she has always cared for more. "

"Don't think it was quite like that, son. But thank you for trying to buck me up. Just looking in the mirror this morning and can't seem to see what she sees. "

Andrew all but rolled his eyes. "That's because you can't see what anyone sees when they look at you, Dad. All you see is where you feel you've fallen short of the mark. The rest of us see, well... who you really are."

"Mmmm," Christopher growled pensively. "Just that... wull, I've managed to get old along the way, bit worse for wear; looking a little worn. She's getting the short end of the stick, deserves a younger chap who..."

"She deserves a man who will love her and cherish how unique she is, Dad. And that man is you. It's one thing to have good looks and another entirely to have substance. You have both. Can't see where she's getting the short end of anything. And I think you're both getting what you need. I couldn't see it at first, I'll admit. But watching the two of you together... I felt it before, when she was your driver but now, what's between you is so much stronger. This is right, Dad. Right for you _and_ right for her."

Christopher looked at his son appreciatively. "Thank you for that. I um, still not convinced but... thank you."

"Convinced or not, it's too late to back out now, don't you think Dad?"

Giving his inner cheek one last bite, Christopher nodded. "Yup. Wasn't really thinking of backing out, just... all at sea, I suppose."

Andrew couldn't contain the grin that spread across his face. He really never could remember seeing his father quite so flustered.


	14. Chapter 14

The Foyles and the Stewarts met at the magistrate's office a few minutes before the appointed time. Andrew and Christopher arrived first and so the groom stood at the end of the hall watching his young bride as she moved toward him, almost as she would if this were a church wedding. And just as he would have stood at the end of the aisle in a church, he stood now taken aback by how very fortunate he was that this woman had consented to marrying him. He was aware of others present but his eyes would only settle on her; he simply couldn't be bothered with anyone else at that moment. "You're so very lovely," he said softly as she came close to stand next to him. Sam looked down demurely, a faint blush creeping up her face. And they simply stood there next to one another for some indeterminate amount of time, marveling at what was about to take place.

Sam and Christopher were oblivious to the expressions of the people who stood around them, the smirks and smiles of Andrew, both Reverend Stewarts, and Mrs. Stewart. Nor did he see the look of protective tenderness on her father's face as his smile turned bittersweet. Aubrey's expression changed to one of wonder and Samantha's mother fought tears. Andrew was beaming, absolute glee erasing many of the lines on his face that the war had put there. For all of them, it was quite obvious in the way that Christopher and Sam were looking at one another in that moment that the couple well and truly belonged together.

The ceremony was short and followed by a blessing of their marriage by Aubrey Stewart. The group had a celebratory supper at one of London's finest restaurants and then the Stewarts left for their hotel. Andrew saw his father and new bride off and caught a cab to his flat.

Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Foyle left in his car, with him behind the wheel. It was a dangerous proposition, he knew, for him to be driving as distracted as he was by Sam sitting next to him.

"I... hope you don't mind I'm not in white," Sam said shyly. "I... just couldn't, under the circumstance. Upset my mother that I didn't buy a new white dress for the occasion but I just told her I didn't have the time or money for a wedding outfit. "

Foyle hadn't minded at all. The pale cream dress she wore was perfect in his eyes, the lines falling flawlessly on her body. "Nooo, don't mind the color at all. Looks lovely... you look lovely in it." He pulled the car to the curb in front of her flat. "You have a bag packed? Hhave a room at the Dorchester for tonight."

Her eyes lit and a nervous smile crept across her face. "I do. I wasn't sure what to pack however. You never said ... well, where we'd ... or how long either, for that matter."

Christopher grimaced. "Oh right. Wull, erm... thought we'd stay at the Dorchester tonight and then move our belongings back to Hastings. Once we've opened the house there, we can go wherever you'd like. Thought perhaps... a fortnight away?"

"Oh golly, a fortnight? I thought... I'd hoped for a few days; I never dreamed... a whole fortnight? "

"Iif that's alright. Thought it might give us time to get better acquainted before settling into a routine together." _And a way to make you rest before you begin making my house our home._

"Oh, I think it sounds marvelous!" She fidgeted with the door handle, eager to get started with her new life.

"Hold on, Sam." Christopher shot out of his side of the car and moved around to open her door and offer his hand to assist her out. Another round of warm waves rolled through him as she looked up him, surprised and pleased.

They gathered her things and returned to the car for the short journey to the Dorchester. Sam's eyes widened as they pulled up and a porter helped her from the car and then hurried to help Christopher with the bags. She stood at his side, a bright smile lighting her face as her new husband signed them in and the clerk wished Mr. and Mrs. Foyle a pleasant night. Christopher was a bit displeased by the clerk's insolent look as he did so, but he let it pass not wanting to upset Sam.

But Sam had noticed the look too and as she linked her arm in Christopher's, she leaned in to plant a soft, subtle kiss just below his ear. Then she whispered, "I can't wait to get upstairs," sending his heart into a fully fledged gallop and warmth into all parts of his body. For the first time in many years, he thought he might be blushing. As they entered the lift, he reminded himself to stay calm. He wasn't certain Sam was really ready for the usual wedding night activities. It had been months since her attack but he knew it had left a vile impression. She'd welcomed the kissing and canoodling they'd engaged in over the past weeks, but he'd been careful not to press for too much. He knew the same restraint might be required even now that they were married.

Christopher took pleasure in Sam's reaction to the room. She stood looking around in awe. It wasn't that they'd never stood in such surroundings before, but usually only as interlopers. Tonight, this was their space. Once the porter was tipped and gone, he turned to simply watch her delight as she explored her surroundings.

"Golly," she said as she turned to look at him. "I've never stayed in a room that is so... so..."

Amused by her sudden lack of words, Christopher felt his mouth go down in a deep, chuffed smile and found himself at a loss for words as well. She crossed to where he was standing and threw her arms around him. "It's real, isn't it? I'm not dreaming? We're married? I'm not going to wake up in my flat and find this was just a marvelous dream, am I?"

"Unlikely we'd be having the same dream, Sam." He hugged her tightly to him and relished the feel of her there and even more, he relished the freedom to hold her as he had wanted to so many times over the years.

After a moment, she pulled away and looked around again. "Well,... I suppose I should... I mean, it _is_ our wedding night and... well, Mother sort of implied that... " she closed her eyes in humiliation. Then a look of determination came over her. "I shouldn't be so... I _wish_ I were more ... more sophisticated and knew more about how to behave right now but this is all new to me and I haven't _any_ idea what I should do or what." then staring at him intently, her eyes narrowed. " _You_ on the other hand _,_ have done this before. Really Christopher, I would think you'd take the lead in this and besides, Mother said that..." her tirade was cut off by his kiss.

"Jolly good," she whispered as they parted again.

Christopher could only gaze at his bride, a small smile at the corners of his mouth. She looked so eager and so frightened all at the same time. Finally words came to him. "My darling Sam, it's true I have been married before and had a wedding night. But this is all new for me as well, because it isn't the same. And I am feeling as hesitant as you. But ... this ... tonight is only the beginning. Let's not hurry things that don't need to be hurried, hmmm?"

"But Mother said... I thought..."

Tucking his chin for an instant, Christopher wondered what Sam's mother might have said that had her so worked up, so worried. But then he decided he'd rather not know. "Let's not let your mother's thoughts on the matter define our first night, hmmm?" He reached out to caress the line of her cheek tenderly and then eased his fingers back into her hair, delighting in the silky feel of it. "Let's take things as they come to us, alright?"

She stared at him in disbelief, her eyes wide with wonder and then slowly fear took hold. "Oh Christopher, I'm so terrified it will hurt... like that night... like..." she looked away in foreboding. "I want to... to be with you but... I'm so frightened," she whispered.

He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted it as he turned her head back where he could look into her eyes. The fear he found there was heartbreaking, reminding him of that night so many months ago when she'd appeared on his doorstep. "Sam, I love you. I want to be with you as well, but not in a way that would hurt you. It does hurt sometimes, the first time for women, but with everything you've been through I would think that is in the past. Still, we can go very slow with this or not at all, at least until you feel you are ready. I have you here with me and I can hold you as I've wanted to hold you for so very long. For now that is enough for me. We needn't rush things."

"But... but don't you want... I thought... well, the girls at the MTC and other of my friends all said that men... that they seem to _need_... it. And besides, you told me once that you were not very good at waiting."

Christopher's mouth folded into an amused upside down smile. "Need? Wull, I s'ppose those men would want the ladies to think that." Tilting his head in consideration, he looked away and then languidly back at her. "Been a few years for me Sam, and...nnnot dead yet. Nnot saying I'm not interested but perhaps because I am older, I can wait. Nnever thought we'd be here to begin with."

"So you do want to... do that?"

He gathered her into his arms to kiss her while pressing his body into hers, leaving no doubt as to his desire. the kiss was full and passionate but it was other parts of himself probing her that caught her attention. When he pulled away, his darkened eyes looked into hers. "Answer your question, Sam?"

A shudder ran through her which alarmed Christopher. Had he gone too far? Forcing his body away from hers but only slightly, he gazed at her again, looking for some sign that it was too much for her. But instead, he found a spark had been ignited. Oh, it was a dim spark but it was there. Now how to bring it to life? How to proceed? Her expression told him she was still unsure but curious and looking to him for guidance.

"Let's erm... let's change into our night clothes, mmm? Ccan just talk awhile? Enjoy the company?"

She smiled at that and stepped away as he released her from his grasp. He watched as she moved to her bag and began to dig through it. Her motions, the simplicity of the scene struck Christopher as wonderfully exciting. He was here, in a hotel room with her, and she was his wife engaged in such a womanly and wifely activity. He smiled as she found the garment she was hunting but barely let his eyes glimpse the fabric, his attention more on her face as a small flush rose in her cheeks. He watched under hooded lids as she made a grab for a couple of toiletries and dashed to the bathroom.

As the door closed behind her, he turned his thoughts to his own preparations for the night. Pulling his own pajamas and dressing gown from his bag, he tried not to let the thought take root that the pajamas might not be needed for long. Closing his eyes as a wave of desire rippled through him, Christopher fought for self control. _Don't bugger this up,_ he told himself. But it had been too many years since he'd been alone in a room with a woman who was his wife, who was his to caress and love, and he found he truly did need her.

* * *

Early in the 20th century the Dorchester held prestigious literary gatherings, notably the "Foyles Literary Luncheons", an event the hotel still hosts today. Couldn't resist having the Foyles stay their on their wedding night. Another bit of trivia about the hotel is that during the Second World War, the strength of its construction gave the hotel the reputation of being one of London's safest buildings, and a host of political and military luminaries chose it as their London residence.


	15. Chapter 15

Not many minutes later Christopher and Sam were in the bed, feeling awkward as they tried to settle comfortably. Finally Christopher propped himself on pillows leaning against the headboard and invited Sam to cozy up to him, just has she had done numerous times on his sofa at his flat. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close while his other hand reached for hers, which was resting on his chest. "So Mrs. Foyle, how are we doing so far?"

"Oh I like that," she cooed.

"Whut? Mrs. Foyle? Get used to it." He pulled her fingers to his lips and planted a soft kiss on them before tucking them against his chest again.

She was quiet for a few minutes but Christopher could sense something was coming. It wasn't long until she burrowed tighter into him and her fingers began to play over the center of his chest. At first it tickled a little but soon her play began to evoke other responses in him. "Um, probably best to limit that Sam. "

He felt her staring at him and tried not to give too much away. But he could hear her question even though she didn't speak. "Stirring mischief," he finally said as lightly as he could.

"Oh," she gasped and pulled her hand away, leaving Christopher regretting that he had said anything. "Ddon't have to pull away, just... not so playful...hmmmmm?"

Her hand went back to its resting place on his chest but he could feel the wheels turning in her head. Risking a glance down he could see her face was set in her contemplative expression, the one that usually meant trouble. "Thinking again, Sam?"

She smiled but remained quiet. "Need help?" he asked, replaying a conversation from some time ago. "Not at a crossroads," she said quietly. "Nup, s'pose not," he agreed. "So what is bothering you?"

"I... want to be able to... I don't like being afraid of...it. Not with you. Not what marriage is supposed to be like, is it?"

"Wull, I'll agree it shouldn't be about being afraid. Beyond that, I think it is whatever we decide we want it to be."

She sat up and looked straight at him, fierce determination clearly etched in her features, along with fear and anxiety. "Then show me."

"Sshow you?"

"Yes. Show me how it should be between a man and wife. Show me how to love you, Christopher."

"Mmore to it than... the act, Sam. You've already shown me love. And I hope I've been able to show you?"

"Yes, but... the rest of it. Show me the rest of it. I want us to be married, in every way."

The apprehension still in her expression worried him. What if he went too far too fast? "Nup. You show me," he countered.

"What? But I don't know..."

"Just... do what feels right... comfortable, Sam. Touch me however you wish, tell me how to touch you. I'm not the boss; you are. We'll do this your way."

"But I don't know..."

"Just... begin, Sam. That's the hardest part. The rest will come."

And begin she did, with a kiss that turned the tips of his elfin ears red. Her fingers took up their wandering again and when Christopher thought it was safe, his did a little wandering as well. Tentative at first, San quickly got into the spirit of things. Her hands wandered farther afield, exploring and discovering. Aware that his body had aged since the last time it had been used in this way, Christopher felt a little trepidation as she examined him with eyes and fingers. But she seemed to enjoy what she found, so he began to relax into the sensations she created in him. For his part, Christopher was careful not to go too fast or too far with Sam, watching for signs of uneasiness on her part. And with both of them being so careful, the build up to their physical union was slow but hardly lackluster.

A coil began to wind inside Christopher, tighter and tighter until he felt as if it might burst. And still Sam continued her investigation. She'd passed over his growing emblem of desire but was just now settling on a more detailed survey. Even a better sign, he thought, was her willingness to let him appraise her more closely, touching and caressing as he went, although he was careful not to give too close an inspection to her most secret recesses. Just as he contemplated a foray there, she gave him a little tug and then caressed his manhood so firmly that he nearly lost it. "Steady on," he gasped as he fought for control. Didn't want to frighten her nor did he want things to end early.

Her hand paused immediately and she looked up at his face in consternation. "Did I hurt you?' she asked, her voice full of concern. "Nno..." he panted, still groping to contain what very nearly happened. "Just... might've begun the fireworks a bit early," he croaked.

"Fireworks?" She was a picture of confusion.

"Wull, kind of like them anyway, when a beautiful young woman takes hold of my ... erm... Paris gun," he teased.

Her eyes widened, indeed her whole face looked surprised. "Some of the girls at the MTC said it was like fireworks sometimes..."

"Wull, would've been for me had you kept that up, Sam. Been a long time for me and ... well, it's likely to be bit explosive when it happens. "

"Oh." Her eyes were even wider but he could see curiosity winning out over fear in her expression. "What does happen... exactly? I mean, I know the... procedure but..."

"Things were getting a bit exciting, Sam? You were feeling flushed, maybe?"

"Um... yes... and a little out of control."

"Right. Tthat keeps... building until... wull, ddon't really have a good way to describe it. Bbut it's this need that builds and then... well, that's where the fireworks happen as we ... we find that moment when ... when the need is well and truly answered. Aand in that moment, ... such pleasure, joy... aand ... we'll truly feel as one."

"So that night when those men... they were trying to fill that need?" She looked puzzled.

"Nno, they just wanted... moment's pleasure perhaps or an outlet for some misguided anger. What I'm speaking of is the way it should be when a man and a woman care for one another. It's... more than just the pleasure of the act. It's... " he searched for a word but couldn't grasp one.

"Spiritual?" Sam offered.

With a quick grimace, Christopher acknowledged the suggestion. "Bit... I suppose that's the closest word. "

She studied his face, her eyes penetratingly searching. "I want that... with you," she said in almost a whisper.

His mouth folded into an upside down smile that was almost bitter sweet. All he could do was gaze back at her, the lump in his throat preventing speech. Tears gathered in his eyes making them shimmer. And in that moment, Sam knew she would have that with this man; she could do it. Reaching for him with the same reverence he'd held her earlier, she caressed his cheek and then leaned in for a kiss. In that kiss, Christopher thought Sam's worries had been resolved and the evening progressed more or less along the usual wedding night lines, with passionate kisses and caresses until Christopher thought he truly might explode if he didn't find relief. "Sam?" he whimpered, "do you think you might be ready to...erm... remove your mmm, gown?"

She tensed, her hands suddenly stilling from their wanderings over his skin. But he ached to see her, to touch her without a layer of clothing between his fingers and Sam. A memory flashed in his mind of a sketch of her bare-chested in the artist's studio. His mind was too clouded with lust to remember the man's name but he remembered very well the jealousy that had surged through him at the knowledge that the man had seen Sam in that state. Lust had also rolled through him upon seeing the promise of her splendor in that sketch.

A wiggle from Sam brought him back to the present, to the very lovely body that she was exposing to him as she tugged the gown over her head. And Christopher quickly realized that the artist had in no way been close to capturing her perfection. He drank in the sight of her, now laid bare next to him, an urgency building within him, boiling up from his groin through his torso and into his head. "Oh Sam," he whispered reverently as his lips began to worship her beauty, starting with an already hardened bud on her breast.

She gasped as he paid homage to first one and then the other of her sweet, pert mounds of pleasure and her fingers grasped at him, seeking a hold as he endeavored to take her places she had never been before. "Christopher," she gasped softly as his hands caressed the length of her torso, memorizing the shape of her, the gentle curve at her waist and the delicate curve to her hips. His mouth trailed down, following the path made by his hands until he lingered over her mound of Venus, inhaling the scent of her arousal.

He rested his head just there, where her thigh joined her torso, his senses luxuriating in everything about her. After a moment, he shifted and moved his head to her thighs just above her knees, openly staring her womanhood. He glanced beyond his point of interest to see her gaping at him, nervous and curious at the same time. "...s alright, love," he told her. "Just... investigating." Gently he raised his hand, touching her there, his finger tracing a light pattern along the crevice. And that's when he saw it. Tenderly he touched the scar that crept out from the small patch of hair that granted her a bit of privacy. Carefully opening the crevice he saw the extent of the scar and the reason for it. Sam tensed, her muscles tightening so that the pillow of her thighs became a rock beneath his head. "Ssam..."

Tears flowed from her eyes. "They... they cut me there..."

Rage tore through him as he stared at the scar, a crude attempt at initials, TL, just inside her outer lips. Fighting the bile that rose in his throat, he swallowed before attempting to speak. "Bboth oor jjust oone?"

Sam started to sob. His rage was overshadowed by concern as he scrambled to comfort her, shifting up beside her and pulling her to him. "Oh love..." he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes as well. He stroked her back and whispered his love for her and spoke of her strength and how proud he was of the progress she'd made since that horrible night. After a time, she quieted and he rolled to his back, bringing her with him, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder. They were both quiet for awhile, exhausted from the emotional turmoil.

But finally Sam asked, "do you think I'll... we'll ever be able to get past it?" There was no need for her to explain what the 'it' was; they both knew.

Christopher grimaced, frustrated with his own inability to contain his emotions. But it seemed he was hopeless when it involved Sam. "In time... yyou've been through so much; hard to go through it all in such a short time. Bbut in time... It will begin to fade, the memory of it all. Aand I'm here Sam, no matter how long it takes."

She burrowed into him seeking the safety and comfort he hoped he could provide. He heard her mumble, "but I want it to be over."

After some time, Christopher felt her relax and realized she had fallen asleep. A tiny smirk worked at the corner of his mouth as he realized his wedding night would in no way resemble the one he had been envisioning for weeks. But they had canoodled far more than ever before and he had the pleasure of her against him with no barriers between them. And the rest would come in time; he believed that because she wanted it as much as he. In the meantime John Thomas was just going to have to behave a little while longer.

* * *

We're off on a two week vacation, so I won't be able to post next week. But I'll be back.


	16. Chapter 16

I'n back! Sorry, didn't mean to be gone quite so long.

Someone asked who John Thomas was at the end of the last chapter. Back in the day it was a British euphemism for a man's... well, you know ;-)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Christopher realized he must've dozed off when he was startled awake by the feel of Sam's fingers tickling his stomach. She giggled when he jerked as she tickled him again and he thought her giggle must be the most wonderful sound ever. Covering her misbehaving hand with his own, he admonished her to "stop that."

Never one to follow his directions completely, she propped herself up on an elbow and began another assault, this time with her lips just below his ear. It tickled and then it didn't and then... "Sam, how am I to behave if you continue this? I have only so much self control, you realize," he bit out through clenched teeth as he tried desperately to manage his physical responses to her manipulations.

"I was rather hoping you might... misbehave," she replied softly. "I... I think I am ready to... try to..." she looked away. Unfortunately, she instead of looking across the bed, she looked down where the evidence of Christopher's lack of will power was on display. "Oh, I say," she exclaimed in a rather loud whisper.

Christopher couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more self conscious. But there was nothing to be done about it as the bed covers had been kicked away in their previous activities. "Ermmm. I'll ummm, just get...my pants," he said as he tried to untangle himself from her. But she pushed him back into the bed. "No, don't," she commanded.

"Bbut, I don't want to make you uncomfortable and with our proximity there is no way I can... can keep ..." He was shocked into silence as she reached down and touched him. And then, much to his amazement and a bit of consternation, she began to pet him... it. "Oooo, it feels so..." she began. Christopher froze. "Ffeels like... what, Sam?" _Feels like... soft? Too big? Too small? What?_ He was afraid of her answer.

She stroked over him again and then wrapped her fingers around the little trouble maker. "It's so... firm but quite... well, almost like silk... or velvet. I...before when I... well, I didn't realize how... nice it feels." Christopher swallowed and then took a deep breath as his eyes closed involuntarily. Her caresses were driving him absolutely mad and he was fighting to contain his... enthusiasm. Yet her words evoked other feelings in him too. He wanted to be able to manage his physical reactions to give her time to explore further... to become more comfortable with that part of him, perhaps? "Ssam, perhaps... just..." If she kept this up he would not be able to hold back.

"What?" she asked as she looked up at his face. Something in his expression must have given him away because her mouth formed a rather large "O". An instant later though, her attention was fully back on her exploration of him. "What am I doing that is so... unsettling?"

"Everything," he squeaked.

"Poor Christopher," she said as she wrapped her fingers around him again and gave a gentle tug.

"Sam!" he yelped as his posterior came up of the bed in response. "Nnot so... vigorous. In fact, not at all just now."

"Oh, I'm sorry; did I hurt you?"

"Nnot exacatly hurt... just... too much. Mmight get more than you're expecting," he huffed.

A crease formed on her brow as she looked back down at his now throbbing, purple bit of manhood. "What?" she asked as she stroked him again briskly several times. "Oh Christ!" he exclaimed as his self control disappeared and his pent up desire exploded, spewing like a fountain.

"Oh... oh what... what was _that_?" Sam yelped.

Breathing heavily and trying to calm down, her next words cooled him rather rapidly, however. "Oh, its ... its shrinking... what happened?" She looked up at him in horror.

Gazing down at the sticky mess that covered his lower abdomen and Sam's hand, Christopher had only one response; he laughed as he hadn't laughed in years. Sam looked at him in shock. "Fetch us something to clean up with, Sam?"

Still stunned, she did as he requested and went to the bathroom. He heard water running and assumed she was washing her hands. Frustrated with the stickiness, he left the bed and hurried to the bathroom as well. Grabbing a flannel, he put it under the running water and began to wipe himself clean. Catching Sam's eye in the mirror, he smiled. To his relief she smiled back, although a little timidly.

"Told you to stop," he said edgily, meaning to tease.

"But I... I didn't know ... I... " Tears gathered in her eyes. "This just isn't what it should be at all," she declared in frustration.

Tossing the flannel aside Christopher wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. "It's alright, Sam. I was just having a go at you... 'magine it was all quite a surprise for you... bit of a shock for you, hmmm?"

"Yes, it was. I didn't expect... well, _that_." He pulled away just slightly and looked into her eyes. "Wull, it's been awhile for me, a long while since a beautiful young woman had her hands on my... erm...parts like that and suppose it was a bit too much. Alright though, Sam. No harm done."

She wouldn't look at him and closed her eyes instead, looking embarrassed. "I should've known... or at least listened when you said... to stop."

Studying her face, he chewed his lip. She looked so vulnerable, so chagrined. A feeling of protectiveness came over him that was so powerful it surged through him like a bolt of lightning. Tenderly he kissed each eyelid and then planted a soft one on her forehead before gently capturing her lips. "Really, it's alright," he whispered as he pulled away again. "Nnot like you've a lot of experience with this sort of thing, is it?"

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing her relief. "Mother tried to talk to me about it... about being with a man but she just got all embarrassed and was very vague and... well, ambiguous. And the girls from the MTC and well, other ones I've known never talked about... that happening."

"Let's um.. " he jerked his head toward the bed, " back to bed?"

Sam nodded and trudged across the room. Pulling the bed covers back in place, she crawled in and looked back at him with a patently Sam smile. Christopher watched with some amusement. Life with Sam was certainly going to be an adventure, he thought as he joined her in the bed.

The couple slept for some time but when he awoke, Christopher had no idea how long. Darkness still reigned outside the windows, so he assumed he hadn't dozed more than an hour or two. As awareness dawned through his grogginess, he perceived that he was being watched. A smile began to fold downward at his mouth as the pleasure of knowing who was watching him sank in. "Hullo," he said softly.

Sam nuzzled into his neck and sighed a happy moan. "You're awake."

"Nup... still asleep; having a very nice dream," he replied. He felt her at his ear again, nuzzling and nibbling. "Mmmm, very nice..." he sighed.

She left his ear and found his lips. To his surprise, she seemed intent on taking the lead. But oh, what a wonderful surprise! Their weeks of cuddling and kissing had given her a boldness that she hadn't possessed with him when they had begun together. And tonight, she seemed to be finding her footing. Even if she wasn't quite ready for the consummation of their relationship, she was certainly moving toward it and Christopher was content with that. Yes, he would let her have the lead; he was quite happy to follow.

A few more kisses instigated by her and then she settled, her head on his chest, over his heart. It was perfect, he thought, that she should settle there. After all, his heart was hers. A portion of it had died when Caroline left him and a greater part was buried with Rosalind, but all that remained was hers. It had continued to beat in his chest for all the years after Rosalind but had begun to dry up from lack of use, until that day a very young, very eager driver bound into his office and began to bring him back to life. Yes, his heart was hers; she owned it just as she owned every other part of him because without her he would wither and die. He caressed along the line of her spine, gently, lovingly but without any hint of sexual pressure. That would come in time, naturally; he was convinced of it. This was enough for now, just to be here with her like this. more than enough. Once again they drifted into sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

I'm trying to get back to my schedule with posts. Everyone has been so patient; waiting for Sam's recovery has taken a toll on Christopher and all the readers following the story. Hopefully you'll find it was worth the wait. Happy reading.

* * *

The morning sun broke through the window and cast it's glow on Sam. Christopher watched in awe as the light played through her mussed hair and cast its glow over her nude body. Her skin couldn't be any more perfect, he mused with an appreciative smile. Remembering the portrait begun by Sir Leonard Spenser-Jones, Christopher thought the man must not have been quite as good an artist as everyone seemed to think. He hadn't captured Sam at all, not his Sam, his beautiful Sam.

She began to stir and he watched with fascination as consciousness began to take hold of her. "Morning love," he whispered. She turned her head to look up at him and smiled a very groggy, sleep heavy smile. "It's a beautiful morning," she said drowsily.

He kissed the tip of her nose and she settled once again on his chest. After a moment she began to giggle. Perplexed Christopher asked, "what is it my love?"

Lifting her head, she looked up at his face and then back at the object of her mirth. "Is it always on like that?"

Noting the direction of her gaze, Christopher quirked a smile. "Is when you're so close," he replied as he took note of his early morning how'dya do. "Golly," she answered with large round eyes. But he noticed that her surprise changed to palpable interest.

Her recognition of his state created a debate in Christopher. His instincts beckoned him to act but he knew she had to instigate anything. Her instincts and more importantly her feelings for him had to overcome her fears. Until that happened any action on his part would end in disaster."It's up to you Sam," he whispered. "Mmuch as I want to, we're on your schedule."

She blinked and looked back at him. The fear he saw again in her eyes was undeniable. "I want to, Christopher. I really do. Bbut... I'm so ..." and then she sat up, her fists pounding into the mattress in frustration and anger. "I won't let them win. I won't let them take this from me... take you from me."

Sitting up next to her, wrapping an arm around her, Christopher kissed her tenderly on her temple. "Not taking me anywhere. I'm here; not going anywhere without you."

"But I need to get past this... this fear."

Holding her hand, Christopher kissed her, gently. "Hardest part is getting started, Sam."

Pressing her lips together in a determined expression that Christopher recognized easily, she nodded. And then suddenly she was kissing him frantically. Sam's determination carried them for a few minutes, carried them into a wonderfully blissful state of desire and hunger. It seemed they had suddenly both grown more hands as they touched and survey and much to Christopher's delight, Sam seemed to be more comfortable with his explorations. Also to his delight, her curiosity was quickly becoming insatiable.

This time there was no surprise when she took him in hand. She read all the signals perfectly, learning just how and when to be attentive. And even more significant, she was tolerating Christopher's similar study of her anatomy. Just when he thought he might be at his limit of toleration, he planted a soft kiss on her aromatic mound of Venus, eliciting a primordial moan from Sam that told him she was perhaps ready. "Sam?" he croaked.

"Please... I think... yes..." she whimpered back as he continued his attentiveness.

Christopher positioned himself over her, rested the tip of his manhood against her heat, and paused. "You're sure?" He wasn't quite sure how he'd manage if she said she wasn't; he was already at the point of explosion. Closing his eyes and thinking of the cold sea water, he waited for her acquiescence. The wait wasn't long. She wiggled against him and moaned, "yes." His own determination to take things slowly was at war with his instincts to take her quickly. But with the help of the thoughts of the cold water, his larger brain was able to control his much smaller, more focused one as he sank into her. _Christ, she is tight... and..._ he closed his eyes, fighting thoughts that would carry him over the edge too quickly, leaving Sam behind. _Sam...concentrate on Sam. Is she alright?_

Risking a glance at her enraptured face, he had his answer. Her head was back, a look of both longing and acceptance blending in her features in a way that made his fire burn even hotter. Her mouth was open slightly and was inviting him, so he accepted, kissing her torridly as he began to withdraw and repeat his journey into her. Her arms rose, her hands on both sides of his head, her fingers in his hair possessively. She was answering his fire! And then... she began to move with him, matching his rhythm. A few more strokes and suddenly she stopped. Just as her pause began to register in his now lust hazed mind, she squeezed him. "Oh..ggod," he stammered, fighting to not lose himself right there. And then she did it again, setting him off in a frenzy that he couldn't contain. Much to his surprise, she was right with him ... to a point.

Much to his chagrin, he couldn't hold back and reached his peak, exploding once again as a result of her effect on him. He knew he'd left Sam behind and was prepared to apologize and do a bit of groveling. Just managing to hold himself still over her, while her body milked him, he was awed by the expression of pure elation her face now wore. Finally, her undulations slowed and then stopped and she released a happy sigh. Only then did he feel he could collapse beside her. She rolled toward him, her arm covering his chest once again. "That was lovely," she cooed contentedly.

Christopher frowned. Had he missed something in the heat of his own completion? He was certain he hadn't. And then he relaxed. Compared to her one previous experience, he supposed it was rather pleasant. And he had plans to show her even more pleasantness in the future.

His evaluation of their first coupling was confirmed when she began exploring again almost immediately. It wasn't that Christopher could or would complain, but he knew he wasn't ready. Still, perhaps he owed it to her to simply lie there and take his punishment?

And what punishment it proved to be! The woman's curiosity was insatiable and she left nothing to chance in her investigation. This time she was taking her time, experimenting and watching his reactions. Much to his surprise and her apparent delight, his little trouble maker was responding well and becoming a bigger trouble maker with each touch. Their second time Christopher was better able to manage his own body and while his explosion was somewhat lackluster compared to the previous one, Sam was able to find completion and he found that even more satisfying.

As they lay together after finding completion in one another, Christopher relished the feel of her against him, nestled in the crook of his arm, her hand resting once again on his chest. He could tell Sam was thinking again by the distracted energy he felt in her touch. "Thinking again, Sam?" he teased.

"Too deliciously tired to think very much. Just... savoring," she said with a gentle brush across his chest. "You're such a clever man, Christopher Foyle. Able to keep the south coast under control during the war, uncovering spies in London, a brilliant fisherman, you can drive even though you prefer not to, know so much about literature and history, and you can take me to the top of the world and make me fly."

Christopher closed his eyes languidly as he soaked in her praise. _So she said you made her fly, you old goat. Didn't think you had the capability any longer, but there you are... she's happy, quite happy. And you're feeling a bit chuffed too. Don't let this slip through your fingers. Hold her close and don't let her go..._

"Nnot so clever, just enough to let you convince me to marry you," he said softly to tease her.

She looked up at him, "Tosh, you did the asking."

"Wull, ddn't leave me much choice..." he teased again.

"I... I didn't force you," she said, working herself into a proper shambles. "You...asked because ... because you..."

He knew he'd hurt her when he saw how flustered she was and he needed to repair it. "Sam, I asked because I couldn't bear to be without you; had enough of that while I was away in America. And when I came back and saw you again, I knew I couldn't let you go."

That seemed to do the trick as she smiled and relaxed into him again. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I suppose I'm still just a bit nervous."

He caressed her back lethargically. "Nno need to apologize. Understandable... all still a bit new for you."

"Yes, but ever so incredible," she said as she nuzzled into him. "I had no idea it could be that... nice."

Christopher smiled his own contented smile. "Careful love, mustn't expect too much from this old man." She was quiet for a moment and then she sighed. "Everything alright?" he asked, a little worried.

"Oh yes." She sighed again. "Just feeling a bit sorry for your first wife," she said mischievously.

"Oh?"

"Well, if you are like this now, when you are ever _so much older_ , then how difficult it must have been for her when you weren't. Must have been a real trial for her." her head lifted and she looked at him enough for him to read the mirth in her eyes.

Christopher pinched her. "Steady on, Mrs. Foyle," he shot back as she jumped.

"Why did you do that?" she squeaked, rubbing her bum where he'd insulted her.

"Mmmm, punishment for your insolence," he teased. "But I probably was a bit of trial for Rosalind in many ways," he said more seriously. "That wasn't one though," he said as he looked at her pointedly. "I was working at rising in the ranks and she had Andrew to chase about the house all day. Hardly the perfect situation for mornings like this one."

"Oh... right," Sam replied thoughtfully. And then the mischief took hold again. ""So I'm the lucky one then," she said as she settled back against him."You're not a policeman anymore and I don't have any little Christophers to chase around so we possibly could have more mornings like this one."

A tingle ran through Christopher as he saw her delight in the notion. "Counting on it," he said smugly. "But _I'm_ the lucky one."


	18. Chapter 18

They travelled to Hastings that afternoon. The house was cool and showed obvious signs of Christopher's long absence. They put their bags in the bedroom and went about, opening windows and pulling sheets from the furniture. "There's nothing in the cupboard for food," he told Sam. "We'll eat at the pub tonight and shop tomorrow, if that's alright."

"Why don't I run out and pick up a few things, for breakfast perhaps?" she replied.

Chuckling, Christopher pulled out his wallet and handed her some notes. " 'Fraid to be without food, Sam? Think I might starve you?"

"No, not at all. But... well, just in case we... have another late morning," she said shyly.

"Wull then," he reached into his pocket and pulled out another note, "mmight get enough for a meal or two then."

Sam blushed and looked up at him, her eyes dancing. "Oh... you're terrible."

He stood in the doorway as she skipped down the steps and walked off down the street towards the shops, overcome once again with his good fortune.

They'd just finished dinner at the pub and were leaving when DC Hadley entered. Christopher spoke to the young man and introduced Sam, although Hadley probably had met her when they investigated the murder of the young woman who had been staying at the guest house when Sam worked there. Once the niceties were exchanged, Hadley started to move on but stopped. "Oh, and sir?"

Christopher turned to face the young man again. "Yes?"

"I remember you were making inquiries before you left... into certain events," he said as he eyed Sam cautiously. "Um, I'm not sure if you recall..."

Glancing in Sam's direction, Christopher stepped closer to Hadley. "I do. Something turned up?"

"Well yes... sir. About a month ago. They gave us the slip but..."

"I'll come by the station tomorrow and you can fill me in," Christopher said quickly. Hadley looked in Sam's direction and nodded. "Of course, sir." He nodded to Sam and then to Christopher and turned to join the crowd inside the pub.

"What was that about?" Sam asked as they walked back toward their home.

"What? Oh...nothing really," Christopher replied as he chewed the inside of his mouth. "Just some young skives who nicked a few quid from old Mrs. Stapleton. I told her I'd catch them and almost did. But then I left and probably no one else continued to look for them."

"Surely that's been so long ago there's no chance of getting her money back?

"Most likely. I'll see what Hadley has to show me tomorrow. Could be they young hooligans are into some real trouble now and that will be something for the police."

She leaned against his arm as they walked. "I miss those days, don't you?" she asked.

"Nup, not in the least," he replied quickly. "Have far more interesting inquiries to make these days," he said as he eyed her cheekily.

Sam stopped in the middle of the pavement. "Christopher Foyle, I cannot believe you said that... like... like _that_."

Eyes crinkling at the corners, Christopher let a smile grow on his face. "Nnot sure why you'd be surprised. After all, yyou're rousing all sorts of thoughts in my mind these days, Mrs. Foyle."

Glancing down at his trousers, she smirked. "Seems your thoughts are not the only thing being roused." then saucily, she turned and headed down the road, leaving Christopher to catch up to her.

He deliberately did not catch her until she stood on the steps on Steep Lane. Then hurrying up the steps he pinned her against the door and claimed his prize by kissing her passionately. He only relented when the sound of Mrs. Douglas was heard from below as she muttered about indecency to Mr. Douglas as they walked on down the hill. Christopher lifted his head in time to see Mr. Douglas turning his face toward them for a last, longing look. The old man was wearing a smile. Christopher tipped his hat to the old gentleman and returned his attention to his bride. "Now Mrs. Foyle, you've been properly punished for your insolence and I think perhaps are ready to return to the evening's activities?"

Sam smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "If that's the punishment you usually impart, I'm surprised Hastings wasn't the center of all crime during the war."

"Oh? Wull, only use _that_ particular punishment for the most insubordinate delinquents," he replied as he reached around her to unlock the door.

Their evening ended as one might expect the second evening of one's marriage to end. Christopher fell asleep almost immediately once the evening's activities had concluded, happily marveling at his ability to respond to his young wife in such a satisfactory manner. Her head once again propped in the crook of his shoulder and her hand over his heart, Sam was smiling and wondering why she had so feared being with this wonderfully considerate man.

Christopher woke early in the morning, the sun just peeking through the drawn drapes at the window. Sam had rolled away from him in the night and was curled in a tight ball, her back against his side. He smiled lazily as he contemplated the bare skin of her shoulder where the covers had slid away. Temptation was pushing him to instigate an early morning tryst but recalling the doctor's words in hospital, he decided to let her sleep instead. It had been a busy few days for Sam leading up to the wedding and she certainly hadn't had enough rest since. Today would be a day of rest for he, he concluded. Besides, we was to meet Hadley later in the morning to see what the young investigator had for him.

Carefully he slipped from under the covers and crept from the room. A half hour later he was fully washed and shaven. Creeping back into the room, he retrieved some clothes from his wardrobe and eased stealthily back to the bathroom to dress. Instead of one of the suits the men at the station would expect to see him in, Christopher had chosen a more casual look. Donning dark corduroy trousers and a checked shirt, he slipped into a simple waistcoat. He'd wear a wool tie and light jacket when he went out. In the meantime, he decided to investigate what had been stocked in the pantry and attempt to prepare a reasonable breakfast. Content in his work, happy to have Sam resting comfortably upstairs, he was also wearing a soft smile.

The look she gave him when Sam appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later could only be described as a pout. But it was a pout that only warmed Christopher Foyle to his core. "Good morning," he greeted her as he turned from his efforts at the hob.

Sam moaned and deepened her pout. "Why didn't you wake me," she asked as she slid into a chair at the small table.

"Because my darling wife, you are under doctor's orders to get plenty of rest; something I know you haven't done for several days. The extra bit of lie in was required. And now we'll have a suitable breakfast and I'll leave you to do some more resting while I see what Hadley has for me."

But, I thought... well yesterday morning we... well, it was so... _pleasant_ ," she groaned again.

Watching the dissatisfaction in her expression and hearing the disappointment in her voice, Christopher let the corner of his mouth drop in a chuffed smirk. "It was pleasant, very erm... _pleasant_. But you must remember, Mrs. Foyle, that you've married an old man and he needs his rest too... at least a small break in the activities."

Her gaze dropped involuntarily to the fly of his trousers as her cheeks flushed slightly. "Didn't seem all that old to me last night; seemed very energetic if you ask me..."

"Wull um... thank you for that. But keep at it like we've been and you'll find just how disobliging the old boy can be."

"Really?" Her expression turned contemplative, her mouth setting in a manner that Foyle recognized all too well. She was thinking again. He knew exactly when her thought concluded and was ready when her gaze rose to meet his eyes. With a cheekiness he wouldn't have credited her with possessing, Sam looked at him squarely and declared, "that requires investigation."

He turned off the hob and pulled the skillet off. Filling the plates with eggs, bacon, and toast, he wished there was more he could feed her. Setting her plate in front of her, he retrieved a cup for her tea and then took care of his plate. Sitting down across from her, he looked at the meal and sighed. "Wish we had more in the pantry. I'll stop at the shops on my way back from the station," he told her.

Sam offered, "I just picked up a few things yesterday. Looks like the shops have more in them now though. Maybe things are really beginning to get back to normal after the war." And then she dug in.

Christopher smiled as he watched her eat. Seemed like the food stocks in the shops weren't the only thing returning to normal. Sam's taste for food was definitely back.

* * *

So how am I doing? Still okay?


	19. Chapter 19

Well, I asked for t and I got it. One reviewer said I needed to check my facts. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that rationing in Great Britain continued after the war but as I wrote the last chapter, I was remembering the stories my parents had told of rationing here in the States, which ended soon after the war. My apologies for the mis-representation. I've tried to adjust the impression that food was more abundant after the war in Hastings in this chapter.

Many thanks to all who leave a word or two after each chapter. It really keeps me "in the story".

* * *

Hadley took Foyle to one of the interview rooms for privacy. His desk was in a room with two others and the subject matter was sensitive. He remembered well how intense DCI Foyle had been in his inquiries before leaving the force. Hadley couldn't quite understand what the connection was, but Mr. Foyle had one to the crimes these blokes were committing. And the DCI had been kind to Hadley as the younger man stepped into the shoes of a Detective Constable, giving him confidence as well as instruction. The young detective felt he owed much to Mr. Foyle.

"I have the feeling this is personal for you, Mr. Foyle," young Hadley told his former boss. "And I want to help, I really do. I also understand why you might not want to share why you are so intent on finding these blokes. But just so you know, I'm glad to help however I can." He then placed a innocuous looking file folder on the table in front of Christopher and settled back in his chair to wait as the older man perused the file. Hadley hadn't worked for Foyle very long, but he knew the older man well enough to recognize the anger and disgust that was growing in his expression.

Christopher was fuming as he read the file. Apparently a Tom Long and a Terry Ledford had been creating mischief along the coast from Portsmouth all the way round to Dover over the last two years. As Foyle read the list of charges each constabulary had for them, he realized these men had committed just about every crime short of murder. There were three reported rapes attributed to them, owing to their resemblances to the men who were described as the culprits. All three women had been cut in a fashion similar to the marks he'd seem on Sam. He closed his eyes to chase away the memory of that discovery. It was something that would always be there, something he would always have to look beyond. And he knew Sam felt it too.

The two men had successfully escaped capture and therefore there had been no positive identification as the rapists. But their methods were the same, whether they were stealing a man's wallet or a woman's virtue. Mean, cruel, and vicious in their dealings, it was clear to Christopher that these were the men that had attacked Sam. "Any indication where they might strike next?" he asked Hadley as he finished the reports.

"They seem to be heading back from Dover. Their pattern is to work their way east then turn around and work back to Portsmouth and then back to Dover. The latest report was in Foulkstone. They'll be caught, Mr. Foyle. Every copper on the south coast is looking for them. "

Foyle nodded quietly. "When they are caught, I want to know."

"Yes, sir." Hadley grimaced a bit. "Anything I should know? I mean, this seems personal for you."

Foyle fixed his eyes on Hadley in a hard glare. "It is," he said in a low, dangerous tone.

Hadley couldn't ever remember Mr. Foyle sounding quite so... ominous. He wondered who it was that these two thugs had victimized. And then he remembered the young Mrs. Foyle and Mr. Foyle's protective posture with her and understanding dawned. "I think I understand, sir. And I'll do everything I can to help."

With a business-like nod of his head, Christopher stood and walked out of the room. As he stepped out onto the pavement he remember the upstart DC that Milner had at Brighton. Christopher mused that'd he'd been far more fortunate when Hadley had been assigned to him. The young man would do well in the force, no doubt.

By the time he returned to Steep Lane, his arms one smallish bag from the shops, Christopher was feeling a bit tired. He was used to a decent night's sleep every night but with Sam in his life, that didn't seem to be happening. Not that he was complaining; man would be a fool to complain about having Sam in his bed every night. Still, between his worry over her, the emotions he'd barely contained that morning at the station, and his ruminations over the situation as he walked hime, Christopher was tired.

He let himself in through the door and carried his bit of plunder through to the kitchen, calling out to Sam. There was no answer, which perplexed him. After putting the food away, he searched for her. She wasn't in any of the rooms downstairs, so he climbed the stairs quietly, hoping she was perhaps napping.

Indeed, he found her curled under the covers in his bed; no, their bed now. Christopher stood quietly, watching her sleep and smiled. The sight of her in this room, in that bed, was just about perfect, he thought. And then another thought crossed his mind and within seconds he was carefully crawling in under the covers to be with her. And filled with the scent and the warmth of her, his Sam, he dozed into a pleasant slumber.

He awoke sometime later to the feeling he was being watched. Letting his eyes open slowly as they adjusted to the light, he was finally able to see who it was. Warm dark eyes stared into his as a soft grin set in a face full of freckles welcomed him to awareness.

Christopher couldn't contain the smile that crept across his lower face. It was such enchantment to awaken in this manner, with Sam there beside him obviously as delighted as he. He closed his eyes against the rush of gratitude and joy that bubbled inside him. Neither spoke for several moments, simply luxuriating in the pleasure of the circumstance. But of course, it was Sam who broke the contented silence. "I've rested," she hinted softly as her fingers trailed along his jaw. Christopher felt his smile widen into a rare one that revealed his teeth. "Mmmmm, both have, I'd say."

"So, maybe we could..." Sam blushed slightly but her expression was eager and hopeful.

"Don't know what you're suggesting, Mrs. Foyle," he teased.

A small huff escaped her. "Sometimes you can be quite obtuse, you know." She sat up and began to crawl from the bed but Christopher was quick in his response. His hand shot out to grab her arm and in an instant she was beside him again, this time his arms around her, and his lips planted firmly on hers. "Just going to have to sort me out then, aren't you Mrs. Foyle?" he teased again as the kiss ended.

She giggled. "Oh yes, I'll definitely get you sorted, leave you speechless in the end."

"Wull, already do that... and more," he replied huskily.

"I do?" she asked, seemingly genuinely surprised.

"Yup," he answered as he traced the line of her cheek with his fingertip. then he combed his fingers back into her hair, his hand covering her ear. "Leave all my senses bit useless," he whispered before he zeroed in on another kiss, this one much more passionate and a strong indication of how their afternoon might be spent.

Christopher Foyle had always had an energy about him, his hands rarely idle and his mind always churning. But on this afternoon, as he lay beside his bride, he was quite languid. Once again Sam had taken him to heights that just a few weeks ago seemed impossible. She really had always been very capable of getting a rise out of him in one way or another and he was finding her latest method much more effective, not to mention satisfactory that any of her others. Although he had always been amused by her unique way of expressing her thoughts, sometimes quite improperly, what she did to him with her hands along with the rest of her body was nothing short of miraculous. But as he recovered from her latest exposition the only thought he seemed capable of was how very happy his life had become.

That night as they ate, Sam brought up a honeymoon. "We had that night at the Dorchester," she said, as if she might be suggesting they not have anything else. "I know you said we'd go away for a honeymoon but I've been thinking..." she paused, composing what she was about to say next.

"What? Again?" Christopher teased.

She smiled at him nervously. "Yes, again." Pressing her lips together she dove in. "There's so much we need to do with the house though. It's been locked up for ages and is rather musty and it needs airing. And then there's the back garden. I thought I might try making it into something usable. And ..."

Reaching over the corner of the table to take Sam's hand in his, Christopher knew this was a discussion he should have started earlier. "You know you are free to make whatever changes you feel are needed, don't you, love?"

She looked up at him, startled and a little confused.

"Rosalind decorated this house many years ago and you can't turn around without being reminded of her, I know. And I understand. Please Sam, do whatever is required for this to feel like your home."

She blushed slightly and cast her eyes toward her lap. Then looking up again, she took a deep breath. "I... I'd like to start with... well, her picture in the sitting room. I... I don't want you to get rid of it but..."

"It's fine, Sam. I'll find a less conspicuous place for it, alright? Perhaps we should go to the photographer's and have one made of the two of us to put in its place?"

Her eyes lit. "Oh, that would be wonderful."

"And anything else Sam... just... make the changes you want to make. Rosalind and I spent happy years here and she made it our home. But Rosalind isn't here any longer and you are. And I want you to make it a home in which the both of us can have happy times. Only thing I ask is that anything of Rosalind's that you want to dispose of, please pack it away for Andrew?"

"Of course! And... you're sure, really sure?"

Christopher smiled at the earnestness in Sam's question. "Absolutely certain." He chewed his inner cheek a moment and then looked down. "I do want that time away with you though," he said quietly.

"The honeymoon?"

"Yes. But if you're anxious to get started on the house, then perhaps it could wait a bit. Perhaps make it a summer holiday?" He did want the time alone with Sam, but since speaking with Hadley, Christopher wanted the time in Hastings just now too, for much darker reasons than Sam's. He also knew she mustn't know why.

"A summer holiday, oh yes. That would be lovely. Where shall we go?"

"Wull, have a few months to consider that. My guess is you'll be more worried about paint colors and new drapes for the next few weeks."

Her shy smile warmed him. He was making her happy; this might be alright for her too, he thought.


	20. Chapter 20

Just a bit of fluff in this one. But I couldn't resist ;-) I hope you enjoy! Back to serious int he next chapter, I promise. Meantime, leave me your thoughts.

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Sam tackled the next morning with an energy that Christopher hadn't seen in her for months. She had his breakfast ready for him before he had even finished dressing. And once they'd eaten, he helped her clean the kitchen sensing that she had other things on her mind. He was checking the morning post when she appeared in the front room, fully dressed and clutching a handbag. "I thought I might look in at Mrs. Martel's."

"Sshe makes draperies, doesn't she?"

"Yes. And slip covers. Thought if I had some fabric ideas, I could begin to think about a new paper for the walls."

Christopher looked up at the walls and the paper that covered them. "Yyou don't like the wall coverings?"

Sam's face fell. "You don't want me to put new paper on the walls?"

"Erm... nnot that exactly. Jjust... bit expensive. Let's start in one of the other rooms? Leave this one for later? "

Sam pressed her lips together as a small frown appeared over her eyes. "But I thought... you said I could..."

Christopher dropped the post on his desk and crossed the room. Taking Sam in his arms, he held her gently. "And you can. Paint the other rooms, have drapes made, recover the furniture... but having the paper redone will be a bit of a mess and... well, expensive. That's all. I've a decent income but pockets not lined with gold Sam. And I do want that time away with you this summer."

He felt her relax, the nervousness draining from her. "Well, I suppose I could work with the colors that are already in the paper."

"That's my girl," he said as he gave her a tender squeeze. As she pulled away, Sam look into his eyes. "My poor Christopher. I really am upsetting your routine, aren't I ?"

Gazing back at her through hooded eyes, Christopher took a moment to respond. "Nneded upsetting, Sam. I wasn't living, just existing. Yyou... you're the light in my life now. Aand you make me very happy."

Her smile lit the darkest recesses of his soul. She beamed at him, shining her light on him and filling him with an overwhelming sense of well being. Overcome by his emotions, Christopher claimed her once again with his arms. "Christ Sam, yyou know I'd do anything for you, don't you? You know I couldn't bear to be without you, that if you are hurt it hurts me too? "

She nodded at him shyly. He planted a peck on the tip of her nose and stepped back a step. "Now, you have an engagement at the Draper's and I've got an appointment with a rather large stack of post. I'll see you later and you can tell me all about the lavish changes you are making to my humble abode."

She grinned at him happily. "Not too lavish; I wouldn't be comfortable with that."

"I know," he replied. "And I do want you to be comfortable in our home."

"Our home," she echoed. "I like that."

"Good," he winked and then turned her to face the door. "No, off you go."

Sam gave him a highly suggestive glance over her shoulder as she walked through the door, making Christopher suddenly warm. He was tempted to follow her and pull her back inside to follow through on that glance, but decided to let her go. He'd collect on it later.

Sam returned from her shopping full of disappointment. The few pieces of cloth she had seemed rather drab and dreary but Christopher watched as she moved around the room, setting each cloth on a table or other surface so she could step back and consider it as a suitable addition to the room. Finally she looked up at him, catching him watching her with a slight smile on his face.

Grimacing, she pointed at the collection of fabrics. "So what do you think?" She asked.

"Beautiful... lovely," he answered, his gaze never leaving her face. To his delight a blush crept up her face and she looked down demurely momentarily. "I meant the fabric, Christopher. You know, you really are becoming quite a lecherous man. I never suspected that about you before, although I knew you enjoyed a glance or two at particularly stunning women."

"None more stunning than you, my love. So I suppose that means you never saw the glances I gave you?"

"I did, a time or two. But I couldn't really believe it was anything more than... I don't know, just approval of my dress or something?"

Christopher's mouth turned down in a heartfelt grin. _More of an appreciation of what was in the dress,_ he thought. "Or something," he replied in a rakish tone that Sam had never heard from him before.

"Oh, you really are getting to be quite randy, aren't you?"

He stepped closer to her. "I can't help it," he said quietly. "You've captivated me completely; can't think of anything else."

She grinned shyly at him. "I have?"

"Yes," he said as reached for her hands. "Seems I'm in a constant state of readiness with you around."

"Readiness?" She asked with sparkling eyes. "Well, it's good to be ready, isn't it?"

"Always," he said as he leaned in to capture her lips. As she led him upstairs a few minutes later, Christopher had several thoughts. There were the lascivious ones as he watched her bum on the steps just ahead of him, there was the marvel that she should be so interested in these afternoon trysts with him, and there was wonderment that he was capable of said trysts. _My god, old man; you'll go to an early grave at this rate._ But as she stood on the top landing for him to meet her, he decided it wouldn't be such an awful fate for him.


	21. Chapter 21

Sorry for the long delay. My computer has gone all fritzy on me and isn't cooperating at all. Managed to get a window of happy computer here, so I'm taking advantage of it. As always, reviews are most welcome.

* * *

The following afternoon, Christopher received a phone call from DC Hadley. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Foyle. But you said you wanted to be told if either Long or Ledford showed up."

"Yes," Christopher replied quietly.

"Terry Ledford was spotted at the Golden Eagle last night, down near the pier."

"So they are back?"

"Yes sir. If they follow the pattern, they'll probably stay three or four days and move on."

"Right. You'll keep me informed?"

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you," Christopher said softly, his mind already whirling. If Ledford was down at the Golden Eagle the odds were he was staying nearby. And that left very few possibilities to investigate. A determined glint settled like steel in his eyes as he made a decision. "Sam darling," he called into the kitchen where she was, heading to her as he spoke. She looked up at him expectantly when he entered the room. "I've a few errands," he told her. "Be back for tea." She tilted her head, obviously confused by his sudden errands. "Alright. I'll try to wait for you," she replied with an impish grin on her face. Leaning down to give her a kiss, Christopher smiled. "If you're starving before I get back, go ahead without me. You usually nick all my biscuits anyway." He escaped the swat directed at him but heard her threaten as he left. "You'll pay for that remark, Christopher Foyle." _Don't I know it,_ he thought as he settled his hat on his head and left the house with a smile. It wasn't too many steps along Steep Lane before the steely glint returned to his eyes, however, as he strode toward his destination.

He stepped into the Golden Eagle and ordered an ale. Looking around in the dimly lit room, he saw a few fishermen but no one that resembled the description of Ledford, or Long for that matter. Turning back to the bar, he asked the keeper a few questions and satisfied that the man had no real information to share, Christopher finished his ale and left. He began to inquire at the nearby inns and his third stop was a small inn just up the road.

The place was dingy and smelled of fish, which was no surprise since it was largely fishermen and seamen that used it from time to time. Most other visitors to the area would find lodgings further in town. He asked the nearly toothless old woman at the desk about Ledford and Long and got a squinty eyed grimace in return. "What ya want with them two?" she asked. "You right smart looking to be asking after them."

"Yes, well... a bit of business, personal business," he replied.

"Oh, well then... Don't know what a gent like you'd want with the likes of them though. Can't think of no personal business you'd have with them."

"Right, well... are they here?"

They're here," she grumbled. "Things been slow or I wouldn't let them stay," she added. "Them two is always trouble of one kind or 'nother."

"Their room?"

"212. But they ain't up there. Went out early this morning." She sighed. "Reckon they won't be dragging back here 'til late. "

"Thank you."

"Yeah. Don't matter ta me."

Christopher stepped out into the fresh air and took a deep breath. The atmosphere in the little inn had been oppressive. Nothing to do about any of it now, he thought. _Best get back to Sam..._ and he set out to walk home.

He passed a flower shop and stepped in to buy a small bunch of flowers for Sam. Another thought crossed his mind and he left with two bundles in hand. Christopher stopped at the churchyard and approached Rosalind's grave. Standing still for a few minutes, he simply gazed at the headstone, letting his memories of their life together flood over him. Clouds overhead created a bleak feeling. Finally, he spoke softly. "I need to tell you something, my darling. And I hope you'll be happy for me?" Quietly he explained about Sam and told his dead wife that he'd married again. Then reverently, he knelt and placed one of the bundles at her headstone. "Please be happy for me. I do love her and she... she makes me happy. It's been so lonely without you." The sun broke out from behind a cloud casting light over Christopher and the grave marker. Somehow it felt as if Rosalind approved. He stood and gazed at the headstone a moment longer and then walked away, his heart a tad lighter.

Sam was in the front room when he entered the house. He paused in the doorway to the room and pressed his mouth together when he saw her worried expression. "Errand's all done?" she asked softly.

Remembering the bundle of flowers he still carried, he held them out to her. "Yup. Brought these for you," he answered just as softly. She took them and passing them under her nose for a sniff, she looked at him shyly. "I ... I was afraid I'd done something... you left so abruptly."

"Nup. Nothing you did. More of what I hadn't done...yet."

She looked at him quizzically. "Didn't do?"

He shrugged. "I hadn't told Rosalind about you... us. Needed to do that."

She looked at him with confusion and a tint of worry. "You needed to tell her... but she's..."

"Yes, I know. I was speaking to piece of stone with her name chiseled into it. But... I needed to talk to her, Sam. To tell her that I've remarried."

"And she... I would think she is happy for you," she replied, finally beginning to understand.

"Think she is," he said as he remembered the bit of sunshine at her grave.

"I know you ... you loved her very much and... well, you still do. And I'm second best. "

He took her into her into his arms and felt her tension immediately. "Nnot second best, Sam. Just different. A new piece of my life. Rosalind ... yes, I still love her; always will. But nnot the same. And she's gone and you are here and I love you and ehmmm am happy, happier than I ever hoped to be again." He felt her relax against him and he sighed. He hadn't intended to hurt her with his explanation. But maybe these things had needed to be said, needed to be recognized. "Think maybe I needed to tell her so I could let her go completely. Needed to do that, Sam. Need to be able to hold you close without anything... or anyone between us." Sam sighed and clung to him tighter.

Later in the evening, Christopher glanced at the clock that sat on the mantel, his mind busy trying to find an excuse for him to go out so late. Glancing across at Sam, who was curled on the couch with a book, her eyes heavy. ""Time for bed, Sam?" he asked softly. "You look tired."

She stretched and looked his way. "I am, rather... Not certain why."

Christopher's mouth dropped into one of his characteristic downward smiles. "Mmight be because you've been busy wearing me down?"

She grinned at him but her tiredness tarnished the brightness of her expression. "No. I enjoy _that_ too much for it to be tiring. But, I suppose I really am not fully recovered from... everything."

"Why don't you go on up, love? I'll stay here and read awhile longer, let you settle before I join you. That way you'll behave and I won't be quite so tempted to get you to misbehave."

Sam nodded and then yawned. "And to think my father was worried that you might be too old for me," she said quietly as she stood. "Seems I'm the old biddy tonight."

"Nup, not old and certainly no biddy; just tired," he said as he stood to kiss her goodnight. "Need to rest so you can have a go at me again tomorrow," he teased just before laying a very chaste kiss on her cheek.

Not to be dismissed so easily though, Sam turned and kissed him fully on the lips, not passionately but certainly not with the chasteness of his kiss. "You won't be long will you?" She asked as she turned to leave the room.

"Just finish this chapter... maybe one more and I'll be up. Go on to sleep and I'll try not to wake you," he said gently.

"Alright. I love you, my darling."

Christopher smiled at that. "As I love you, so very much," he replied as she stepped out of the room.

Christopher watched as she started up the steps. He listening for her movements upstairs and noted when things grew quiet. He waited another forty minutes and then quietly gathered his coat and hat and crept out of the house, closing the door behind him silently.


	22. Chapter 22

It only took a few minutes to walk to the Golden Eagle. Once inside, he located the two men he was looking for. They were seated in a dark corner and by the looks of the glasses on their table, the two men had been imbibing for some time. Christopher stepped to the bar and ordered an ale. Settling at a table near the door, he sipped and he waited.

Finally Ledford and Long walked to the door, right past Christopher's table. He stood as they walked out. Not far behind them, Christopher was able to follow the pair as they walked along the road. He saw Long nudge Ledford and point to a lone woman leaving a pub up the street. "Remember that bird we had last year, Terry?"

"Oh, you mean the tall bird. Had a right bit of spunk to her, didn't she?" Ledford cackled.

"Yup. Bet she ain't forgot us none," Long chortled.

"Guess not. You putting yer letters on her... that was a good 'un. Bet she can't take a piss wit' out thinking of you."

"You too," Long laughed. "Yer letters too. Wonder where she is now. She was a nice piece; wouldn't mind having her a'gin."

"Tha 'un would be a good replacement, I'd wager..."

Long nudged Ledford. "Yer readin' my mind."

It was then that Christopher's anger propelled him into them. Grabbing the shoulder of the shorter Ledford, Christopher spun him and landed a solid right on the man's jaw before either knew anything. Ledford staggered backwards and Foyle turned to face Long, whose fist was already flying toward his head. Christopher ducked enough that the swing missed. Lunging into the taller man, Christopher's head hit him just below his ribs and the former detective heard a satisfying grunt as the man staggered back into the wall. Bu then, Ledford was back in it grabbing Christopher's left arm. Christopher spun and landed his right fist in Ledford's gut, doubling him over.

Things took a bad turn for Foyle when Long grabbed him from behind, wrapping both his arms against his body. Foyle looked up in time to see Ledford coming for him again. Leveraging against Long, Foyle swung his legs up and kicked Ledford in the chest. The motion made Long drop him and Foyle scrambled to get his footing.

But his back was to the wall now and he had no escape route. Both villains started for him and Christopher made an instant decision to go for Ledford, deeming him smaller and easier to take out. Plus he'd suffered more blows already. Launching himself at the smaller man, Christopher landed a glancing right followed by a solid left and the man went down.

Long was all over him though. Fists seemed to be flying from everywhere at Christopher. Ducking one, the second grazed the side of his face before another one hit him solidly in his stomach and sent him to the ground. Long was over him, fists hammering, right...left...right... Somewhere in his fading consciousness, Christopher heard the sound of police whistles. And then things went dark.

When he awoke, DC Hadley was watching him. The young man said nothing while Christopher took in his surroundings. "Wull, least I'm not at the nick," he quipped finally.

Hadley almost grinned. "No sir. In hospital. You took quite a beating last night. The ambulance brought you here."

Christopher was immediately alert. "Last night? But... my wife; she'll be worried."

"I've sent an officer around to collect her, sir. She should be here soon. Before she arrives though..."

"You want to know why I was out that late and how I ran into ... those two."

"I believe I know already. I just need to know who threw the first punch."

Christopher sized up the young man, wondering how much he actually knew. "I did. I knew they'd be at the Golden Eagle. I went there and I followed them into the street. They were following a young woman and talking about... Wull, she wasn't safe. And I threw the first punch."

"Because of the woman they were following or because of your wife?"

Foyle's eyes narrowed. "Rather not say," he replied.

Hadley glanced around the room and then took a step closer to Christopher. "It's a shame those two attacked you last night, sir. Bad lot they are. We do have them down at the station. After we're finished with them, other constabularies all along the coast want a piece of them. Good thing you were able to detain them long enough for us to nab them."

Christopher looked sharply at Hadley through his barely open, battered eyes, the policeman in him taking hold. "You heard what I said, didn't you DC Hadley?"

"I did, sir. Every word. And I'll tell my sergeant every word you said to me and also what I said. But I don't think anything will come of it considering the records of those two. I'd be surprised if you hear anything more about it."

Hadley's attitude disturbed Christopher. He had thrown the first punch, attacked Ledford and Long and should be charged. But frankly, he was too tired and too sore to give it more thought at the moment. "See you do," he finally sighed.

Sam rounded the corner just as Hadley turned to leave. With a quiet nod, he disappeared through the doorway leaving Christopher to deal with his very aggravated looking wife. Christopher decided that it was best not to say anything until she'd had her piece of him. He didn't want to wind her up her further.

"Chrisopher Foyle, what ... why... you left last night... After you said you would up to be soon... Why?" Her face betrayed her worry as she looked at his though. She wasn't so much angry as frightened, he recognized.

"Sorry love," he said remorsefully. "I... well, I knew from Hadley that those two were about and I thought to see what they might be up to. Thought Hadley might nab them if someone knew where they were. "

"And just how did you plan to tell DC Hadley where they were when they were pummeling you nearly to death?" She screeched. Christopher couldn't ever remember hearing Sam screech before. It was that and the unadulterated fear in her expression that finally enlightened him as to how foolish he had been.

Reaching out to her, taking her hand in his bandaged one, he sighed. "I'm sorry, darling. Wasn't thinking, was I? Just... after what they did to you, I couldn't let them get away again. I am sorry I've worried you though." He watched as Sam's ire melted and she bent over him for a kiss. Trouble was, his lips were in such a dire condition, she hesitated. Finally, she decided on a peck to his cheek and even that was tentative.

Straightening up, she tried to look angry at him again but as she took in the various bruises and cuts on his face, all she could do was make a sympathetic face. "Your face," she moaned.

Christopher considered his injuries. He knew his cheeks had taken a beating because his eyes weren't much more than open slits and his jaw hurt terribly. He thought his nose might be alright; at least, it didn't hurt. Both hands were bandaged but that's because of the damage he'd inflicted to his knuckles in the brawl. As he took a deep breath, he groaned. His ribs were none too happy with him either. He wondered briefly what other injuries might make themselves known. "I'll be alright in time," he said with confidence, wondering how long a time would be required to heal. "And those two are in custody now, so it was worth it. They were following another young woman when I stopped them."

"Oh," Sam said in surprise. "I... yes, I suppose. That... what happened... to me... I'm glad it didn't happen to her. But you must promise that you won't do something so foolish again, Christopher. I... when they told me what had happened, I couldn't breathe. I ..." tears trickled from her eyes, "I don't know what I would have done if the news had been... worse."

Christopher had felt remorse for worrying Sam, but seeing her in such a state made him ashamed of his behavior. "Sam, I'm truly sorry for worrying you so. I promise, nnot happening again."

She sat in the chair next to his bed with a sigh of relief. "Thank you." Christopher was pleased to see the tension leave her expression as she relaxed a little, although she seemed to be chewing the inside of her cheek, a bad habit she'd picked up from him no doubt. "Has the doctor said what your injuries are and when you'll be able to come home?"

"Haven't talked to the doctor," Foyle replied. "I had just awakened when you came in. I think my ribs... wull, won't be straining them anytime soon."

"You've got broken ribs?" Her alarms were sounding in her head, Foyle knew.

"Nno... don't think broken; just battered a bit. Just feeling rough is all. Please don' worry, Sam. Don't think anything is broken so I'll be back to normal before long."

It was another hour before the doctor came in to check on Christopher, who was dozing. The doctor smiled at Sam and gave her a reassuring nod. "He'll be fine," the doctor said. "Your father took quite a beating but nothing's broken. Won't look pretty for a couple of weeks and those ribs will remind him of his adventure for a month or two, but he's in no danger. I'd say he can go home this afternoon if you'll be there to watch over him for a few days."

Sam's brow furrowed. "He isn't my father, doctor. Christopher _is_ my husband. And yes, I will look after him," she replied acerbically.

The doctor's eyes widened. "Oh, of course... I'm sorry for ... well, I just..."

She waved his words off. "You aren't the first to make that mistake. We knew it would happen when we married; actually worried Christopher. But yes, I'll look after him even though I've a good mind to make him suffer more for scaring me as he did."

The doctor chuckled. "No need to worry about him suffering, Mrs. Foyle. I expect those ribs will remind him often. I'll make the arrangements and he two of you should be on your way soon."

"Thank you, doctor," she said. "And thank you for taking care of him. He's a very lucky man to have had such good care."

The doctor eyed Sam appreciatively. "Yes, he is; very lucky indeed."


	23. Chapter 23

First, my apologies for being gone for so long. I had a little mishap that ended with me contracting a serious eye infection. On good days I could read a little but couldn't see well enough to write more than a sentence or two. Eyes are much better, although still tire quickly. This one is shorter than most but it is a start as I try to get back in the groove. Happy reading and please excuse any typos I may have missed.

* * *

The ride home was quiet, Sam still somewhat miffed with her husband and Christopher still groggy from his medications to lessen the pain and stiff and hurting. His eyes were still little more than slits but he could see how upset Sam was, even now as they turned onto Steep Lane. He sighed, silently chastising himself for frightening her so. It really had been a bit of idiocy on his part to go after those men on his own. He's known it as he left the house but hadn't stopped to think it through. "You berk," he half whispered to himself. "Made a cock-up of the whole thing."

He heard Sam sigh and then a light chuckle come from her as she ducked her head to hide the smile that was surely fighting for existence. Christopher was still angry with himself but relieved to see some of the tension leave her as she pulled the car to a stop in front of the house. "Ssam," he said as he reached for her before she opened the car door. She stilled and waited, not looking at him. "I really am sorry for giving you cause for worry. I... I wasn't thinking. It's just... what they did to you... in all of my years of policing, as frustrating as it was at times, it never provoked me like ... like that."

She turned slightly to look at him. "How long had you been planning this?"

He pressed his sore lips together feeling much like he had as a boy when his mother caught him in some mischief or another. This was more serious, of course. And he had a responsibility to Sam. There could be no prevaricating with his answer. "R...remember when we saw Hadley at the pub, just after we returned to Hastings? I spoke with him about Long and Ledford the next day. Aand he called me when they showed up again."

A heavy huff escaped her as she stared ahead for a moment. Then without a word, she exited the car. In her frustration, she left Christopher to manage his own exit alone. He deserved it, he supposed. Turning and standing was uncomfortable. Ascending the steps became excruciating, but Sam stood at the top, offering no help. That's when he knew how truly and deeply he was in it with his wife. Had he been able, he would have groveled and apologized again as he stood at the top looking at her just inside the door. Breathing heavily and talking didn't seem possible, however, so he simply lowered his gaze and stepped through the door.

Sam stepped aside and allowed him entry. As he moved to hang his hat a wave of nausea overcame him and Christopher's legs nearly buckled under him. That's when he learned that forgiveness would be forthcoming because Sam reached out to help support him, her grasp firm but gentle. "Think I need to sit," he huffed.

Without a word, Sam guided him into the front room and helped him settle in his chair. Leaning his head back, Christopher closed his eyes in hopes the nausea would pass. He could feel her standing nearby, watching him. "I'll be alright," he said softly, believing she was worried.

Had his eyes been open however, there would have been no doubt that worry was not uppermost in Sam's mind. At least, not the sort of worry he thought she was feeling. Her face betrayed the emotions playing through her as she watched her husband fight down his discomfort. Anger mingled with concern, love, and frustration. Finally she moved to the other chair and sat, still glaring at him.

After a few minutes of silence, Christopher opened his eyes as much as they would open to her glare. It was then that the penny dropped. Her anger wasn't just because she had been frightened; she was angry with him for other reasons as well. "Ssam?"

"Honestly Christopher," she exhaled. "Did you really believe I wanted you to go out and punish those men for what they did? Don't you realize that I had struggled all this time to put it behind me and now with your actions, it's like it happened yesterday? And haven't you understood that you are the reason I made it through? I am so angry with you, Christopher, for stirring it all up again, for putting yourself in danger, for ... for forgetting how very much I need you with me!"

His heart was in his throat. He had forgotten. His need to make those men pay for what they had done to her had clouded his mind and driven him to act foolishly. But as Christopher weighed her words, he frowned. "Sam, I do apologize. I was so intent on bringing those two to justice, that I forgot to consider your feelings. But you made it through on your own strength. Oh, I may have made those first few days a bit easier but it was you who fought through. And as far as needing me, it's more the other way around, I would think. I'm rather in need of you and that only grows with time."

Her expression softened but only slightly as she chewed his words and her lower lip. "I do need you, Christopher. Those men made me feel... dirty and unworthy, ashamed. But you've always, even when I was just you're driver, you've always made me feel important, like a I was someone special. My father would chastise me for wanting that, to made to feel special, but it is rather a nice feeling and ... " she paused and looked directly at him. "Oh Christopher, you must promise me you'll never do anything like that again. You could have been killed."

The anguish in her voice brought an immediate response from him. "Yes, I promise. I'll sit here and tie fishing flies and dawdle into old age if it makes you feel safer. But Sam, you were always special to me, never _just my driver_. And I'm very happy that you find that I believe you are special is a nice feeling. I shan't ever allow your father to chastise you for that." His lips curved down into a very uneasy but deep smile.

Sam blinked her eyes, chasing away tears. Then ducking her head for a moment, she fidgeted with her fingers. Looking back up, Sam swallowed, obviously suppressing her emotions. "The doctor said you should rest, in bed actually. I'll help you with the stairs."

"Yes, thank you. I... I am feeling tired." Internally Christopher smiled again. Progress was being made.


	24. Chapter 24

Thank you for the lovely reviews and words of support and wishes for healing. Eyes are doing a lot better; now just to catch up on everything that didn't get done. I did want to be sure to get this posted today though. I truly appreciate everyone's patience.

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The next few days found Christopher spending most of his time in bed, alone in bed. To his consternation, Sam refused to join him at night, opting to sleep in Andrew's room instead. She said she worried that she might aggravate his sore ribs in her sleep and he had to admit that at times she was a restless sleeper, but he knew her reasons were more ominous than that. Although her anger had abated somewhat, Sam was still upset with him, very upset. Worse than that, he was beginning to understand that his actions had undermined her trust in him in some measure. Though she tended to him, helping him when he needed it and ensuring he had plenty to eat and drink, there was a distinct frostiness in her demeanor and he knew he had only himself to blame. But the worst were the nights. He'd grown accustomed to her warmth beside him at night and now the bed was as chilly as her attitude. As he began to heal and spent more time awake, Christopher contemplated a way to remedy the situation.

Finally one afternoon, hearing Sam on the landing as she brought the laundry up, Christopher called out to her. Because Sam was Sam and being helpful was a part of her, she appeared immediately, her arms laden with the linens that hadn't made it to the cupboard next to the bathroom. "Yes?" she said as she stood next to the bed.

"I ... I thought we might talk," Christopher said hesitantly. There was something in her expression that made him wary.

"Talk? About what?"

"Aabout... well, aabout what happened and ... about how it is affecting us," he replied.

"Christopher, I have laundry to finish and a stew on the hob that needs tending. Plus, I received a letter from my mother that I need to answer." Her tone was direct and cold.

"Rright. Yes. Well, I tthink we, the two of us together, are more important than those things at the moment. Seeing no break in the ice, he implored her. "Please Sam. We can't continue like this."

She blinked and for a moment he thought she might tear up, but then she let out a long sigh. Then a short huff. "Alright. Let me put these away and turn down the heat on the hob. I'll just be a few minutes." And without another glance, she was out of the room.

Christopher was nervous, more nervous than he could remember being in recent years. He couldn't cock this up. How could he have been so foolish, he asked himself as he had countless times since it all happened.

As promised, Sam returned to the room a few minutes later. She sat hesitantly at the end of the bed opposite him, far out of his reach. And she said nothing.

 _Ah, so it is on me to start_ , he thought. "Ssam, I really am sorry. You have every reason to be upset with me, angry even. But I am going to be alright and I promise I will never do anything so foolish again. Aand I want things back the way they were before I behaved so stupidly." He gave he his best remorseful look, one that had worked with Rosalind most of the time. But Sam wasn't impressed and she just looked back at him, her face seemingly frozen in an impassive position. "Sam please," he said softly, nearly at the point of begging. "I do love you, you know; so very much. And this... this distance between us... I can't bear it. I know I've hurt you and I'm sorry. Can you not find a way to forgive me?"

Christopher was worried. It was rare for Sam to be so quiet. And yet, here they were and strangely enough, he was doing all the talking. She had yet to utter a word.

Finally she looked down and took a deep breath. He thought she might be about to speak but instead she just looked back up at him, tears in her eyes. He tilted his head, his face forming a genuine frown as he contemplated once again how deeply he had hurt her.

Sam often confused him, confounded him even, and sometimes frustrated him. That of course, was in between the times she lifted his spirits and brought him joy. But these days, he was more frustrated with himself than with Sam. And now seeing the hurt in her eyes, he was feeling quite small. "If I could go back, change it all, I would," he offered. "But I can't. But Sam, I am truly sorry."

Tears began to roll down her face. "You frightened me, quite a lot. More than I've ever been frightened before. I've always credited you with such good sense and then... then you... Oh Christopher, I couldn't bear it if ... if... what if you had been killed? What should I have done then? I... have to be able to trust you not to act so foolishly again."

A small smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. Finally, the ice was breaking. "Never again, Sam; I promise. Wwon't even go to the shops without your permission. Or perhaps you should accompany me, not let me out of your sight to ensure my best behavior." He looked at her stoically, the only hint of his teasing the slight glimmer in his eyes. But it was enough because Sam recognized it.

"I should." She looked away again and sighed. "I don't want us to be like that... or like we are now. I do love you, Christopher; so much that it hurts to think of what might have happened. I know you are mending but... I can't help but worry. You really promise?"

Christopher almost missed her question as relief swept through him. He was to be forgiven. He looked at her expectant expression and nodded. "I do. Aand I take it seriously, as seriously as my wedding vows."

He spied the beginning of her grin and watched it slowly grow. "Well, I... I suppose if you really mean it... then I... yes, I forgive you." She cast a warm glance his way and Christopher, feeling overwhelming relief, answered her warmth with a smile of his own.

"Does this mean I might have a kiss?" he asked cheekily.

"Your forgiveness is not that complete," she countered. "Perhaps a hug?"

"Mmight upset the ribs," he countered.

"Oh, right. A kiss then." Sam moved from her position at the end of the bed to stand beside him. Then leaning down, she dodged his upturned face and kissed him firmly on his forehead. Christopher looked up into her mischievous face and grunted. "So that's how it is to be."

Now she was the cheeky one, grinning at him unabashedly. "It is, for now. I know what kissing leads to with you."

"Hardly ready for that," he replied sullenly. "But I do hope you'll come back to the bed with me tonight."

"But..."

"I'll sleep better with you here, Sam. Seems I grown used to your presence beside me. No mischief, just... I've missed you."

"Alright then. But just sleep."

Christopher dipped his chin in satisfaction. "Right," he replied contentedly. "Just sleep..."


	25. Chapter 25

I'm tardy with my once a week post but I'm trying. Two days late isn't so bad is it? As always, reviews and comments are welcome.

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As she had promised, Sam joined Christopher in their bed that night. To his chagrin, she hugged the edge, obviously not wanting to disturb his ribs. He appreciated her consideration but found the arrangement most unsatisfactory. "Sam?" he said softly after several moments of consternation.

"Just sleep, remember?"

"I do. Mmight sleep bit better with you nearer..."

"Christopher, you won't sleep well if I do something to upset your ribs. You know what the doctor said about keeping them quiet."

"But either you come closer to me or I try to get to you. Wwhich one you suppose will aggravate my ribs more, hmmm?" He smiled subtly as he heard her resigned sigh. "Alright. I give in. But I wish you would have told me how stubborn you can be before I agreed to marry you," she groused as she scooted closer.

Christopher almost chuckled. "My love, you've seen me through some very telling situations. I thought you already knew." He grinned subtly as he watched Sam overcome her urge to nudge him in the side with her elbow in response.

The two settled under the covers and soon Christopher was asleep, content with his wife next to him.

The next few days passed quietly, with Christopher feeling stronger each day until finally he ventured downstairs for a good part of the day. His activities were limited to reading in his chair and a short time tying flies at the table before Sam ushered him back to their room for a nap. Christopher made a show of complaining but in truth was glad to have a lie down. He'd spent too long at the table with the flies and his ribs were troubling him, though he daren't let on to Sam.

But Sam was more observant than he'd credited her and as soon as he was settled in the bed, she scolded him. "You over did things, didn't you?" Christopher quickly weighed how best to answer but before he could, she continued. "And before you try to tell me that you are alright, I can see the pain in your face, Christopher. You seemed comfortable enough in your chair so it must've been the time at the table. Right?"

Feeling very much like a chastised child, Christopher decided it best to get his scolding over."Rright. Will give the flies a rest for a few more days, mmmm?"

"Yes, you will." She stood over him, hands on hips, looking every bit the overly taxed Mum and god help him, Christopher found it quite... stimulating. "You umm... you..." He thought his eyes must be wide open with a stunned expression because it was truly the way he felt. Not for the first time, Sam was making him speechless.

"What?" She sounded bemused. But her expression spoke of her frustration with him.

"Yyou... I... " He sighed, which sent a twinge through his ribs. "Ssam, can't tell you enough how much I love you."

A grin softened her features and she huffed. "You're impossible," she said softly. "And I love you too. But really Christopher, you must be more careful."

"I will, love; promise. I ummm, I'm realizing how very much I miss our... wull, time together... here." His smile tucked down as he watched Sam take a deep breath, ready to launch into him again but she merely blushed instead. Very quietly she replied, "so do I."

CFSS

The weekend came and Christopher stared out the window glumly. Noticing his mood, Sam inquired about it. "What has you so low today?"

"Mmmm?" he looked up distractedly.

"Something has you down today, Christopher; and I want to know what it is." Her tone was concerned but demanding.

"Oh, erm... nothing really," he said dismissively. "Just...," he gaze went back to the window.

Looking for herself, Sam couldn't see anything of special interest and frowned. "What is it, Christopher?"

"Nnothing really, just a bright day out... tthinking about the fish, is all."

Sam looked out the window again. "Well, the river is out of the question. But if you're feeling up to it, perhaps a stroll down to the Stade? Or Perhaps the High Street? I know I would like to get out for a little while, breath some fresh air. Might be good for us, both of us, to get out for a little while. I've at least been able to go out to the shops, for all the good it did as paltry as the pickings are, but at least I was out of the house for awhile and you've been stuck inside since ... since you were injured. Why, it's no wonder that you're a bit morose having been locked away inside going on three weeks. But if you don't think your ribs are up to it... or we can start out but if you are having any difficulty at all we can turn back. Yes, that's just the thing; I'll get our coats." And just like that, Sam disappeared from the room leaving Christopher feeling somewhat staggered by her sheer energy. But as the initial feeling wore off, he settled into a warm acceptance; his Sam was back.

Sam was right, Christopher reflected as they strolled arm in arm along the beach. The fresh air was doing him some good. It felt glorious to be outside, breathing in the sea air and taking in the warmth of the sun. There was a gentle breeze that was blowing bringing a hint of the warmer weather that soon would be coming. That reminded him of a conversation they'd had upon their arrival back in Hastings.

"Sam, it'll soon be summer. Have you given thought to where we should go on our belated honeymoon?"

Sam stopped and turned to look at him. "No, I haven't. I thought you... well, I suppose I really didn't think I just assumed, but you seemed to have an idea of where we should go, so of course I just ... well, I just assumed, that's all."

A grin tugged at his mouth as he listened. There had been times, especially early on in their acquaintance, when he'd found her ramblings annoying. But after all that had happened, he took pleasure from them. He supposed they were a sign of her indomitable spirit, a spirit he cherished in her. But she was waiting for his response, so he turned his thoughts to that.

"Suppose we could go up to London."

"Bbut... that's ... well, it's just ... that ..."

His mouth folded into one of his signature upside down smiles as he watched her mentally search for a proper rely. Feeling a warmth he was only just now becoming accustomed to, Christopher decided to save her. "Right, not really getting away, is it? Perhaps farther north? The Cotswolds? Or perhaps farther north to the Lake District?"

Sam grinned and ducked her head. Then suddenly she looked up. "Do you suppose... I mean... I know its awfully far and all but..."

"Where, love?"

"I... I've always wanted to see Scotland, or at least part of it. Do you suppose... I mean, it is so far..."

"Scotland it is, my love. We'll start planning what we might see while we are there. July perhaps?"

Her features broke into a delightful smile, one that was so bright it was even reflected in her eyes. "Yes, July would be lovely."

"Settled then. Scotland in July." They fell back into step as the couple turned to make their way back to Steep Lane.


	26. Chapter 26

Once again, many thanks to all who have read and left reviews and/or comments. I like creating these stories but is always nice to know others are enjoying them too.

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The days passed more easily since the afternoon stroll. Sam seemed happier, more content, which helped Christopher's state of mind immensely. The night was growing more and more frustrating for Christopher, however. Despite his still sore ribs, his body yearned for Sam, to be with her intimately. And as the nights passed, the yearning turned to need until he thought he might explode from it. He sensed that Sam was growing equally impatient but whenever he tried to instigate something between them more than a simple kiss or hug, she pushed away, saying it was still too soon. Finally one night, he could take the rebuff no more. "Too soon, Sam? Been weeks..."

"But your ribs. And don't try to tell me they aren't still sore, Christopher Foyle, because I see the grimaces on your face when you move too quickly or don't stand from your chair just so. They're tender and need more time to heal."

Ducking his chin ever so slightly, Christopher fought the grin that was fighting to break on his face. "Mmy whole name? Really? Mmakes me feel a bit like a schoolboy again and my Mum is having a word with me over some transgression."

"As if that ever happened," Sam huffed. "You were the perfect child, no doubt. I can't imagine your Mother ever having a word with you like that. And..." she hesitated, her mind obviously taking a different track. "And I'm not your mother and I don't want you thinking of me in that way. I don't think I like it much."

Christopher's grin did break loose then, the corners of his mouth creeping down. Poking his tongue in this cheek while he decided on a proper reply, his eyes danced at his wife. "Wull, certainly not my Mum and nnever thought of you in that way," he mumbled as he let his eyes rake over her roguishly.

His attitude sparked more angst in Sam, however. "Oh you... you are just impossible," she huffed again.

"Yup, suppose so. Least when you're around." He reached for her hand and held it gently before bringing it to his lips for a soft caress and kiss. "Truth is Sam, as tender as the ribs are, I'm aching for you. Nneed to feel you close, be with you. We could be careful, take things slowly... but I need you Sam." He could feel her softening, even though her expression wasn't showing it. "I think you've erm...maybe missed me a little too?"

She turned to look into his eyes, her own showing her longing. "I have. But I've been so afraid. Do you really believe it would be alright if we... ?"

"Only one way to find out," he said as he tugged at her to move closer to him.

Their kisses were hungry and needful. Their caresses were gentle and loving with Sam being careful not to put too much pressure on Christopher's sides. Consequently, it was Christopher who pressed closer to her, his body taking charge of his actions leaving his mind to rejoice in her nearness.

The bed heated rather quickly as the two rediscovered one another. Something tickled in the back of Christopher's mind; something was different about Sam. But his mind was too preoccupied with the sensory feast before him to dwell on such thoughts. "Christ Sam, how I have missed you," he murmured as his kisses moved down to include her breasts. Her response as his mouth claimed first one and then the other assured him that she had similar feelings about their forced abstinence. It wasn't long that his attention to her responsive mounds had her ready for explorations south.

Even though Sam was enjoying his ministrations, she was applying some to him as well. No part of his torso went untouched and her lips caressed his face, his neck, and as far south as his navel. There were moments when it seemed as if they might be in a duel, one fighting the other for position to make their claims. But surrender in those instances was as rewarding as victory, so neither complained.

As their activities continued, Sam became more confident that she wouldn't hurt Christopher, and in fact, he gained confidence as well... right up to the moment of truth. It arrived more quickly than he'd expected but it was clear they were both ready to be joined. He wasn't entirely certain how to go about it though. Neither of their two usual approaches would suffice, he realized. Both would cause pain and the moment would be lost. He remembered another option but was unsure of Sam's approval. As he looked into her eyes, he saw that she was having a similar conundrum, without the knowledge or experience to find a solution. In her mind, there were only two ways to go about this.

"Sam, I think I know of a way but..."

"Show me," she panted eagerly.

And so Christopher found himself behind her, his hands on her glorious orbs and his manhood where it properly belonged, deep inside her marvelous cavern. He nearly wept from the joy of being encased in her once again, although he wanted very much to feel her skin next to the length of his. Still, the ecstasy of the moment was almost too much to bear. "God I've missed you," he whispered reverently. And as intense as the sensation of her was for him, his whispered words were even more so for Sam. Clutching the bedclothes, she back herself further into him, taking more of his length and then squeezing him tightly as she let out a soft moan. It undid Christopher and he began to thrust deeper, pumping faster and faster until his motion became frenetic with Sam matching his thrusts, meeting him each time. He was on the edge when she cried out and shuddered her release, sending him over the precipice into bliss, emptying himself and leaving him quivering. Too weak to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed over her back, her lovely porcelain skinned back, forcing her front first onto the mattress. Carefully he rolled off her, his bones feeling like jelly, and simply laid there drunk from the pleasure of being with Sam.

He felt the bed move and then an arm on his chest, the elbow precariously near his worst behaving rib. But he simply didn't care. It was Sam's elbow and therefore a welcome visitor. Her fingers caressed absently at the space between his nipples, creating a warm sensation but almost tickling in his heightened state of sensitivity. And then her lips attached to his ear lobe, her tongue teasing him with flicks back and forth. Christopher wanted to respond, to torture her in a similar manner, but he simply didn't have the strength, so he remained there subject to her whims.

Her lips found other places to caress, his neck, his jaw, his lips. Her hand began to create mischief as well, tracing lines down his chest, her fingers teasing at his navel. Then she grabbed his shrunken bit of manhood and giggled.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, feeling chagrinned. "Find it amusing, do you?"

"It is difficult to believe that just moments ago it was so rigid... and large and now it is... well, not. Amazing really, if you think about it. Such a change..." She toyed with him a moment longer and then gently replaced the tired soldier in its previous resting position.

"No magic in it, Sam. You bring it to life and have for years. Now we're married, you bring it to life and elevate it... me to great heights until it discharges from the pleasure of it. Not so amazing really when you think of the inspiration."

She reached up to kiss him and then settled next to him. "I could say the same... the part about the pleasure of it... of you. I do love you so very much, Christopher Foyle."

"Mmmm, using the full name again, are we? Well Samantha Foyle, I love you so very much too."

The couple settled quietly, contently in each other's arms, and drifted to serene sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

The Muse is being fickle lately. Hope this is up to par. After days of fighting with it, the words began to flow again today. Let me know what you think, since that's the only way I have of knowing how I'm doing.

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Two days later Christopher was in the front room reading while Sam was banging about in the kitchen under the guise of preparing dinner. A scratching and then the tumbling of the lock sounded at the front door, rousing Christopher from his book with a frown. Standing gingerly because despite his much improved ribs, that motion still seemed to determined to remind him of what Sam was now calling his foolishness.

He'd just made it to the entry when the front door opened revealing his son, Andrew. A slight grin broke across Foyle's face as a counter to the cheeky one plastered on Andrew's visage. "Andrew," Christopher greeted him curiously.

"Hallo Dad," the son replied as he dragged his bag into the front hall. "I've been trying to get away since Sam called me about your accident but we've been busy and I'm just now free. Thought I'd come check on the reluctant patient and be sure he's behaving for his new wife."

A tolerant frown creased Christopher's brow as he digested his son's explanation. "Wull, erm..."

"He's been behaving tolerably well," Sam's voice chimed in from behind him. "Glad you could come, Andrew," she continued in a cheery voice. "Though we could have used a little warning, what with food being scare and all."

In his usual obtuse exuberance, Andrew grinned at her. "I've brought a few things from Town," he said. "Thought things might be a bit scarce and the markets are probably a little better in London. Also thought that if Dad's feeling up to it, we might have dinner at the pub while I'm here."

"Oh no," Sam exclaimed. "Your father is not allowed near a pub until he's healed completely. Consider it as further punishment for his foolishness."

Christopher's lips twitched as he watched Andrew's surprised expression. "Foolishness?" the younger Foyle asked.

"I'll let your father explain," Sam said as she turned to return to the kitchen. "I've a dinner to stretch to feed three." And with that she disappeared.

Andrew looked at his father questionably. "Foolishness, Dad? You?"

"Come in and I'll try to explain," Christopher said as he turned into the front room. "Drink?" he shot over his shoulder as he made his way to the whiskey decanter.

"Small one," Andrew answered before settling in his customary chair.

Christopher poured two drinks from a still meager supply of whiskey. "Fraid it isn't my usual," he said as he handed Andrew a glass. "Still hard to come by."

"Don't I know it," Andrew agreed. "Even in Town." He noticed his father had poured a good finger's worth more for himself. _This must be some story..._

The elder Foyle settled into his own chair and took a sip from his glass. Observing that his father didn't seem inclined to speak, Andrew asked again, "foolishness?"

"Right. Wish Sam hadn't said it quite like that," Christopher replied.

"Sam told me you had an accident; didn't say anything about foolishness."

"Mmmm, suppose she didn't want to worry you too much. Nor explain much. Guess she's ready for it now though." Christopher took another sip for courage. "She was attacked, Andrew. Two men ... before I left for America. I knew about it then; she even stayed here for a few days when it happened. But I thought she was better by the time I left. Came back to find that she wasn't. That's when I realized how much we meant to one another. "

"Right. But... attacked?"

"Yes... erm ... she'd been out with some friends, coming home from the pub and these two followed her, caught her unawares."

"Did... Dad, they didn't... " Andrew's face revealed his level of concern... and anger.

Watching his son, Christopher decided not to answer the unspoken question. "Anyway, I got word they were back in Hastings and ... wull, couldn't let them think they got away with it. Followed them from a pub down by the water and ... wull, they were about to go after another young woman and I... erm, stopped them."

"And they beat you."

"Yup. Face is healed but the ribs still a bit sore. Sam was angry with me and perhaps fairly so, but I just couldn't..."

"Yeah, I get it Dad. But to go after them alone?"

"Wull, suppose that _was_ a bit foolish," Christopher grimaced. "Would do it again though, to protect Sam."

Andrew had leaned forward in his chair as his father talked but now settled back against it. "Yes, I can see you would. Can't blame you Dad, but maybe next time take someone with you, hmmm?"

"There won't be a next time," Sam said darkly from the dining room. Both men looked at her, startled to see anger in her expression.

"Right," Andrew agreed readily. But Christopher merely nodded, acknowledging her without promising anything because he knew he would never tolerate anyone hurting Sam again.

"Sam, that's the best meal I've had in some time," Andrew said later as they finished their dinner. "Thank you."

"Yes Love," Christopher said from his place across from Sam. "Splendid job with so little rations. Thank you." He knew she was still frustrated with his remark to Andrew earlier and in an effort to soften her up a bit, he even allowed a small smile at the corner of his mouth as his eyes twinkled. Even more amusing to him was Andrew's expression at his endearment for Sam. Enjoying his son being off kilter, he then teasingly added, "you're a marvel in the kitchen." Her small huff and shy grin told him his tease was working. Turning his attention back to his son, Christopher continued the light mood. "Did you know son, that when I first knew Sam, her only dish was Coq au Vin, without the vin?"

Andrew chuckled. "I didn't. Just how does one prepare Coq au Vin without wine anyway?" Both men looked at Sam, who giggled. "Well what do expect form a vicar's daughter?"

Christopher would never be able to explain how Sam's laughter and giggles made him feel. But it was as if something inside him that had been knotted up had suddenly been untied. It was always like that whenever she was upset with him and then later forgave him or at least came to terms with what he'd said or done. It was the best feeling in the world, he mused as his son and his wife continued in conversation. As he watched her though, he couldn't follow the conversation closely enough to comment. All he could do was marvel at the gift that was Sam.

Andrew's visit lasted two days. Christopher caught his son eyeing Sam a time or two, _speculating about just what her attack involved, no doubt._ But Christopher supplied no more information about the event.

They did go to the pub on Andrew's second night in Hastings after Sam relented for "this one special occasion". The look in her eye as she made her pronouncement had stirred Christopher in ways he didn't think she had anticipated. By the morning of Andrew's last day with them, Christopher was almost eager for his son to leave. As good as the visit had been and as much as he enjoyed having his son underfoot again, Sam had declared the walls of the house paper thin and denied Christopher any release with Andrew in the house. After his second attempt to rouse Sam and her second refusal last night, Christopher had grumbled something about new walls before he rolled away from temptation to try to find sleep. There'd be no Andrew on this night though, Christopher reminded himself as he eyed his wife over the breakfast table. Her answering look made him even more eager for Andrew's departure.

"When's your train, Andrew?" Christopher tried to sound sad that the visit was ending but seeing the smirk on Sam's lips just before she sipped from her tea cup, he knew he failed.

"Oh, it leaves at 2:00. Or at least that what the station master told me. Trains don't seem to run on time since the war though."

"Right, yes..." Christopher agreed. "Shame."

Sam rolled her eyes as Andrew stared at him perplexed. "I'll assume you meant that about trains in general and not about my train today."

"Yup... 'course," Christopher replied softly, glancing over at Sam just in time to see her duck her head. _Hiding her mirth, no doubt..._

The train departed on schedule and Christopher sent a silent thanks to heaven for the small favor as he and Sam watched it pull away. "Home?" he asked her as they turned to leave the station.

"To put you out of your misery is what you really mean, isn't it?" She retorted.

"Mmmm, perhaps. "

Suddenly she stopped and turned to him. "Christopher, you really must try and behave yourself whenever Andrew is around."

He looked at his wife, who was wearing her most serious expression. "Because he's still just a little infatuated with you, you mean?"

"No! Well, maybe. I don't know. But... he's happy for you, for us I think, but there was something ... something bothered him. And you weren't helping him with your misbehavior."

Foyle's tongue dug deep into his cheek. "Wull, had to reconcile what happened to you. And I do think he sees you and can't help but wonder if he made a mistake when he wrote you that letter. Sometimes, I wonder..."

Sam put her fingers against his lips immediately to stop him from speaking. "No. I wouldn't be better off if he hadn't written that letter. Andrew was close to what I needed... need. A near miss. You ... well, I just can't imagine things being any different. I'm happier with you than I ever imagined I could be. And I think I make you happy too?"

Christopher looked into her searching, questioning eyes and smiled a genuine smile. "After Rosalind... Never thought I'd know happiness again. Contentment maybe, but not happiness. But now... Oh Sam, please never doubt that you make me happy." The tears that gathered in her eyes matched his own as the couple silently turned and walked arm in arm to the car.


	28. Chapter 28

Many thanks for your patience. The Muse left me for awhile but she seems to be co operating for a few days. I'm going to get as much written as I possibly can and stock up in case she abandons me again.  
In the meantime, I wish everyone a happy and healthy New Year!

* * *

It was a week later that Sam awoke and started to the loo as a wave of nausea swept through her. Hearing her retching in the bathroom, Christopher went to investigate. Witnessing his wife over the porcelain throne heaving but producing little shocked him. Sam was almost always a picture of health. Wide eyed, he stumbled to take hold of a bath cloth to mop her face. He sat on the edge of the tub as he took hold of her hair and pulled it away from danger. And then wetting the cloth in the sink, he began to wipe her face. "Oh love..."

"I... I'll be fine, I think. Just need to let this pass. It hit me as I crossed the hall. But it is getting better now. "

Still wide eyed, Christopher's mind began to spin. There were many reasons why Sam could be ill but one thought gripped him, making his own head begin to spin. "Erm Sam... mmm, when did you... well, what I mean to ask is... your last cycle, it was... when?" His voice rose slightly as he finished his halting question.

Sam settled back, lifting her head up instead of hunkering over the bowl. Her expression was just as shocked as Christopher's had been just a moment before. "Cycle? Oh... yes, gosh... it was just last... no, no... must've been three... ooh, well..." Looking up at him mortified, she gulped. "Before you were hurt, emmmm, about a week... no, about two weeks before, I think. You don't really think I could be... that... but the doctor said I shouldn't... that we should wait."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Christopher's own expression reflected some of Sam's chagrin. "Sam, I'm sorry. I knew... wull, just should have been more careful."

"More careful? You mean not... Oh no, Christopher Foyle, I won't have you blaming yourself for ... for doing something we both wanted. And we don't even know that is the reason for this morning. "

"Yes, of course," he agreed. "But if it happens again, you'll be off to the doctor."

"Yes, under the circumstances I should do that. "

Christopher watched his wife carefully the rest of the day, chewing his cheek, his lips pulling into a frown as he contemplated the situation. Inwardly, he was accusing himself of being careless with her health. He'd heard the doctor's words, knew they were acting foolishly, and yet he continued in the madness. And that's exactly what it was in his mind, madness, because he'd simply not been able to keep his hands off of her; not when she gave him a certain look. Wull, that will need to be rectified, he thought as he watched over her. However, he admitted to himself, that might be impossible for him.

It was a mystery to Foyle that at his age he was able to keep up with his young wife. He was generally fit enough despite his recent injuries, he thought. His ability to respond to her on demand had been a pleasant surprise for him, however. And now she would possibly suffer the consequences to his inability to control himself. He was angry with himself.

But her morning illness seemed to fade away and by afternoon, her usual appetite had returned. Aware of his somber mood, Sam suggested they take a walk later in the day and by mid afternoon, they found themselves strolling along High Street, peering into shop windows and enjoying a sunny day.

But by evening, Christopher was morose again and Sam had just about had enough of it. "Golly Christopher, one might think you regret our marriage. I know the thought of starting over with nappies and middle of the night awakenings is daunting, I mean... starting over for you, isn't it? You thought you were finished with all that with Andrew grown and long out of the house. And now... well, I think you regret marrying me. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Christopher was taken aback. Obviously he'd let his dark thoughts go too far and Sam was feeling the effects of his self rebuke. "Nnoo, not at all. No, Sam. It's just..." he features twisted as he structured what he wanted to say. "It's just that I worry. If you are... pregnant, wull it could be dangerous for you. Can't... " he blinked to push back the emotions that threatened to spill over. "Now I've got you, can't imagine..."

Oh Christopher," she said worriedly as she moved to his side. "I didn't think... about that anyway. Just thought you didn't want to start over."

"Wull, am a bit _old_ for it, don't you think? But I know you want children and I'm prepared for it, I believe. Just wanted you to be fully healed before it happened. Doctor was very clear about that. Blame myself for this," he said somberly.

"Oh no, Christopher Foyle; you are not to blame, well... not entirely anyway. As I recall, I had a part in it all too. You make me feel as if I don't matter when you do that... take the blame entirely on yourself."

He tilted his head slightly as he grimaced. "You matter, Sam. And it is precisely because you do matter so much to me that I am upset with myself. I should have been more cautious. We were told the risks and I've done nothing to protect you. "

"How would you do that, Christopher? Johnnies? You know how unreliable they are. And the only other solution would be unthinkable and most unlikely."

Lifting his head to look into her eyes, Christopher let one of his upside down smiles creep over his mouth but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Unlikely? Damn near impossible, love."

Sam smiled then, feeling that his mood was changing. "We don't even know that I am... pregnant, that is. Perhaps we shouldn't let it worry us just yet."

"Mmmmm, p'haps not," he said as he gathered her to him for a tight hug. "Just want you safe, Sam."

Feeling warm and very safe in his embrace, Sam murmured. "I am safe, here with you."

Christopher chuckled softly. "Couldn't be less true, my darling."

She looked at him with sparkling eyes and once again Christopher Foyle wondered how he had come to be so fortunate.

That night as they prepared for bed, one of his eyebrows rose into his disappearing hairline when his wife appeared in their bedroom in one of her more transparent nighties, obviously with more on her mind than sleep. "Sam, I thought you understood."

"What? That we should be more careful? Seems that ship has already sailed, Christopher. Thought we might just enjoy the voyage."

Christopher had never considered himself one who read women well, but he was getting her message loud and clear. And as he stood there gaping at the vision before him, he couldn't think of an argument against her reasoning.

"Knew the first moment you came into my office all those years ago, knew you'd be trouble," he muttered as a smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. Sam laughed as she flung herself toward him. "And you love it."

Wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly, his face sinking into the hollow between her jaw and her shoulder and drinking in the scent of her, Christopher mentally agreed. He did love her trouble, this bit of trouble anyway. But as their night continued a little longer, he couldn't help the feeling that dark clouds were again on their horizon.


	29. Chapter 29

Thank you one and all for the lovely comments! It's nice to know others are enjoying. And it also prods me to try harder to stay with my schedule.

In case anyone is wondering, I don't own anything about Foyle's War. It's all down to Anthony Horowitz, who created these characters and Michael kitchen and Honeysuckle Weeks, who gave them life. But they are such fun to play with, aren't they?

* * *

When Sam woke the next morning she wasn't feeling well but managed to keep everything down. Christopher watched her closely through the day and the next morning when she pushed her breakfast plate away, half uneaten, he knew. "Alright, that's it. I'm ringing the doctor."

"The one in London?" Sam asked, obviously upset.

"Nup, J.J. Josephson. He's erm... "

"The one who came after that night."

"Right. You seemed ... comfortable with him."

Sam looked away and sighed. "I... yes, I suppose under the circumstances, I was as comfortable as I could be. He was very... kind. Yes, ring him."

"Sam," he said as he reached across to take her hand in his. "I'm worried about you. But either way, pregnant or not, It's alright. I don't want you to worry."

"You're worried about me but I'm not to worry?" She was incredulous.

His brow furrowed as he looked at her. "Right," he said as his mouth turned down slightly in one of his upside down smiles. Sam looked into his twinkling eyes. "You're not fooling anyone, you know. "

"I'm not?"

"No. You're worried about me but you are also worried about being a father again."

Christopher worked his mouth, chewing a little at his cheek and then pulling the corner of his mouth back almost in a grimace. It was an expression Sam was familiar with, one she'd seen countless times in the years she'd known him. Something was bothering him and she was certain she was right about what it was. But he still had the ability to surprise her. "Am worried about you. And about me starting over with fatherhood. More worried that you'll be left to raise a child on your own."

Sam looked stricken. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"No. Just... know the possibilities."

"Yes, and the possibility I'm counting on is that you'll be with me for a very long time. Please Christopher, don't... don't think like that."

He moved around the table and took her in his arms. "Sorry love. S'pose I can't believe my good fortune."

"Well, believe it," she admonished.

"Right you are," he said, smiling in a way that she had come to think of as his happy smile, his lips slightly open and the corners of his mouth turned upward a little. He only smiled like that when he was relaxed and found something truly amusing.

"Christopher, if I am... well, I just want you to know that this time... this baby will be a happy circumstance. The last time, I..."

"Difficult, that one. Never doubted you'd have worked it out, cared for the child; but started wrong." Darkness settled over him again, a feeling of imminent disaster. Seeming to sense his changing mood, Sam sighed. Determined to shake him out of it, Sam sighed. "Yes, it was. But.. " She placed her hand on her abdomen," if there's a little one in there now it will have been made from love. Much better beginning, I'd say."

Christopher smiled again, the gleam returning to his eyes. "Glad you think so..."

Later in the morning, Foyle found Sam in the dining room, where she was polishing the furniture. "Spoke with J.J. He'll see us at four but we have to go to him."

"Oh," Sam said as she looked up from her work. "Well, I suppose that will be alright."

Dr. Josephson's office was attached to his house, or perhaps it was the other way 'round, Christopher thought, just as he had years ago when he'd first come there. Sam seemed to come to the same conclusion as she looked around. They'd entered through the front door and then an interior doorway to the left. A doorway to the right led to the doctor's living quarters. It was obvious the office space was larger than the living space.

The couple sat in the anteroom and waited. Sensing Sam's nervousness, Christopher tried to comfort her by taking her hand in his. Trouble was, he was just as nervous.

The door to the inner office opened and boy walked out, followed by J.J. "tell your mother I'll be by later to check on your father, Teddy. And you take care with that arm., the doctor said as he pointed to the boy's arm in a sling. "Yes sir, Dr. J. I'll tell her. " The boy walked past the Foyles and out the door.

"Christopher... Samantha, I appreciate you coming in. Busy day and I really wouldn't have the time to go to you," J.J. said as a way of greeting.

"No, this is fine," Sam told him. "I ... well um, know you must stay very busy."

J.J. smiled at her, a friendly smile that she remembered from ...before. "Christopher told me his good fortune, that you agreed to relieve him of his loneliness."

"J.J." Foyle admonished. "Nnot what I said at all." Sam looked from one man to the other, pleasantly perplexed.

"Oh, right; my mistake. I believe the exact phrase was ' I'm the luckiest man alive, Sam agreed to be my wife.' Isn't that it , Christopher?"

Christopher, his hand in his pockets, dipped his knees as he nodded agreement, a grin lighting his face.

"So now, Mrs. Foyle, he tells me that there is possibly another Foyle on the way?"

Sam cleared her throat. "Yes, well... it is Christopher that seems to think ... I mean, I haven't felt quite myself the last few mornings and... well, I haven't... my, erm... my cycle is ... overdue," she said with a blush.

Christopher caught her blush before glancing at J.J. "She... llost a baby a few months ago... the result of... well, what happened."

Josephson frowned. "Oh dear." He looked from Christopher to Sam. "You've had such a difficult time, my dear. But perhaps you've turned a corner? Let's step inside and see if we can determine what's causing your morning discomfort." He gestured with his hand for her to step through as he glanced at Foyle, his eyes telling him to wait. Christopher watched his wife disappear into the other room and worried what twist his life might take now.

By the time the door opened again and Sam stepped through, Christopher was too anxious to sit and was standing by the front window staring out but seeing nothing. Upon hearing the door, he turned and saw her watching him, her expression shy and apprehensive.

"The test will be done in week," J.J. said softly. "But all the signs are there. I'm expecting positive results."

A week later the phone rang and J.J. Josephson shared the test results.

"Two months, almost two months gone and I didn't realize it," Sam complained that night over dinner.

"Wull, your mind wasn't really on..."

"After all, it isn't as if this was the first time..." she interrupted, still frustrated. But then she stopped and looked across at him and seeing his stricken expression she interrupted herself. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up... the other one."

Foyle flinched. "Nnot at all. I was just going to say that your were looking after me and wull, it is different each time, I'm told."

Sam grinned. "You consult with the ladies often about their pregnancies, Christopher?"

He stared at her wide eyed and then let his features settle into amusement. She still had the ability to bowl him over . "Nno... not often. But, wull, Andrew wasn't Rosalind's only time. We, erm... that is to say, there were two others."

"Oh... golly. I... I'm sorry. I didn't realize... you never told me."

"Well um, nnot much to tell." His mouth twisted and a sadness enveloped him with the memory of their losses surfaced. "Ffirst one was a year after Andrew aand was over before we really knew it had begun. Second one, she was almost seven months gone and... something went terribly wrong and after that, wull... we knew Andrew would be our only child." He had a faraway look, felt faraway, somewhere long in the past but shook himself out of it. "Point is, each one was different. So not surprised you didn't realize with this one."

Sam was looking at him with such open sympathy that he had trouble breathing. "Long time ago, Sam."

"Right. But it makes me even more determined to see this one through. "

He could only smile at that. "And we know how fierce you are when you become determined, don't we?"

She smiled at him mischievously. "Yes, and right now I am very determined that we'll get dinner cleared away and celebrate upstairs."

"Celebrate?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Don't be coy with me, Christopher Foyle," she said as she stood to begin clearing the table. "You have my meaning."

Standing to help her, his lips turned downward as his eyes lit. "Have to be blind to miss it."

In the wee hours of the morning as they lay cuddled together, Christopher half asleep and basking in the warmth of his wife whose hand was resting n his chest, her fingers grazing lightly over the scant bit of gray tuft there. An eye opened fully when he heard a soft mew from her and a sigh. "Something amiss?"

"Nnnnooooo," she cooed. "Just... " she shifted and turned her attention to the hair just behind his ear. "Your hair fascinates me," she said softly.

Christopher let out a snort of sorts. "Best investigate now then, before the evidence disappears altogether. "

"Mmmm, don't think it will all go," she replied. "The top perhaps, but I think you'll keep the rest." She continued to play in his hair as she spoke, twirling his curls around her finger and then gently pressing them to his head to watch them spring back. "I hope our little one has your hair," she said dreamily.

Christopher's lips dipped into an amused posture. "Nup. Too much trouble. I'd prefer that it has hair like yours, all honey colored and silk."

"What are you wishing for anyway?" she asked. "I know you've already got a son, so are you hoping for a girl?"

Christopher considered her question only a moment. "Healthy, that's what I'm hoping for. Both of you. It's true I have a son already. There's comfort in having raised one and knowing the way. Little girl would be very different, I think. But also very welcome." He paused and turned to look into her face. "Long as she looks like her mother."

Sam began to trace the top of his ear. "Your ears fascinate me too," she murmured. "There's not a fairy or an elf in your background, is there? "

Enjoying her attention at his ear, Christopher hesitated to answer, wishing to continue the pleasure without interruption. "Mmmm, not that I'm aware. "

Her tongue took up where her finger had been and that became Christopher's undoing. Rolling over and kissing her while his hands roamed, he was wide awake. "Oh, I say..." Sam said in surprise.

"You've awakened the beast, my darling. "

"Oh really," she replied, her eyes alight with mirth in the dim light of the moon streaming in through the window.

"You have," he answered before once again delving into the pleasures of his wife.

The next morning as Christopher stood at the bathroom mirror to shave, he remembered her comments about his ears and his hair. Tilting his head to examine his ears more closely, the mirror reflected a droll smile. "Elf, eh... Mmmmm..."


	30. Chapter 30

Sorry, I'm a day late with this. I hope you enjoy. I'm afraid it is written a bit tongue in cheek but it really is rather ridiculous the way we sometimes write Christopher with a ravenous appetite that can keep up a pace that would challenge even the most randy teen. So I thought I'd have a little fun with the meeting of that notion and what would probably be more the reality. As always, I love to hear your thoughts!

* * *

Christopher watched Sam closely over the next few weeks, worrying that she might be doing too much, taxing her energy and her body's ability to carry the child. Sam was doing more than just watching him, however. Her appetite seemed to grow exponentially, both at the table and in the bedroom. He had prided himself in his youth on his ability to recover reasonably quickly and perform encore performances, sometimes two or three. Thanks to Sam's craving, his abilities were being challenged nightly... and often in the mornings too. A few times she'd even cornered him mid day. Frankly, while he felt quite chuffed by the attention, he was also wearing out, he feared.

He stopped in to speak with J.J. Josephson about the matter.

After a very awkward explanation of what was happening and his own fears, Christopher finished with, "I don't remember Rosalind being this way at all. There was more frequency but... I don't recall her being so... so... " HIs face twisted in confusion as he grappled with it all.

Josephson chuckled. "It's the hormones, old chap. Your Samantha's are in full bloom. It will pass, in time. But for now, they are rather active and so she is rather demanding. I understand that you are concerned, both for her and for yourself. While you certainly are in good health, you just can't keep up with her hormones. My advice is to talk to her or perhaps just keep her distracted to give yourself some recovery time. But be prepared; you will be expected to report for duty more than usual for another month or two."

Foyle left the doctor's office no more at ease than he had been when he arrived. But perhaps J.J. had given him a plan of sorts. If he could just keep Sam distracted enough...

Just the very next morning, he'd begged off and remembering J.J.'s suggestion that he talk to her, he tried.. "Please darling," he'd almost entreated, "give an old man a reprieve." She'd accepted his plea and responded. "I'm sorry darling, it's just that I find you so irresistible." And in the end she got what she was after.

That evening as he sat with his evening paper, he could feel her intense gaze and found himself feeling sympathy for a mouse just as a cat is about to pounce. Problem was, as tired as he felt, his little soldier insisted on responding to her call to duty. Thankfully she sensed his weariness and allowed him light duty for the night.

Upon waking in the morning, Christopher glanced over at his young wife and decided perhaps a proper breakfast might satisfy her appetite this morning and he might be spared the strain of being uppermost on her menu. Sliding carefully from the bed, he donned his dressing gown and slippers and crept from the room.

It wasn't that he might have been incapable of responding to her advances, but so much activity tended to lessen the strength of his response. As he busied himself in the kitchen, he contemplated how to convince Sam that perhaps less might be more. With a twist of his mouth, admitted to himself humorously that at her current pace, he might be dead by year's end.

Once the food was prepared, he placed it ne a tray along with a cup of tea and carried it up to his still dreaming wife. He set it safely on the bureau and stood next to the bed watching is wife's sweet repose. As if she sensed his presence, her eyelids fluttered opened and she looked up at him through squinted eyes. "Christopher?"

"Morning love. I erm... thought you might have an appetite after our late night. Brought breakfast," he said through a twitch of his lips.

"Mmmmm," she sighed with a small smile. And then her eyes opened wider. "Do I smell bacon?" Her head came up as she peered toward the tray.

"You do," he replied with a satisfied smirk.

"Oh... well, I'll just visit across the hall and be right back," she said as she began to crawl out of bed. Christopher helped her with her dressing gown and watched her trudge through the door with a twinkle in his eyes. _Managed that distraction quite well..._

They enjoyed their breakfast together, Sam back in bed and Christopher seated on a chair next to it. She'd suggested he climb back in but he'd rightfully recognized that as a trap which he managed to avoid.

Once the food was gone, Sam leaned back against the headboard and sighed. "I could wake up like this every morning," she said wistfully. But then she turned and frowned at him. "Except you weren't next to me."

His lips pulled at one side as he contemplated a response. "Wull, couldn't be here and prepare your breakfast. Aand ... wanted to surprise you with it. Spoil you a bit, perhaps..."

"Oh, you do, my darling man," she cooed. Then lifting the covers she looked at him blatantly. "Now come give me another surprise... or better, perhaps I might surprise you," she said cheerily.

 _Uh oh... trapped..._ Christopher stood and smiled at her. "I've a better idea. Let's pack a basket and go to the river. I can catch a few fish to fill out the larder and you can lounge in the shade with that new book you've been reading. then we can enjoy a light lunch before returning to town. "

Her face fell but with a deep sigh, she nodded. "Alright, if you insist. You really are serious about me letting you off the hook though, aren't you?"

Feeling a bit churlish, his smile fell. "Nnot trying to get off your hook, Sam. Happily hooked for life. Jjjust, can't quite keep up with the pace you've set of late."

She looked at him, puzzled. "But you... I mean, every time we've... you've...?"

His smile folded down as his chin dipped. "Yes. Bbut, wull... erm... my ability to rise to the occasion is somewhat hindered by so many... occasions so close together. Little spacing would be appreciated."

Her mouth formed a rather large "O" as she digested what he had tried to tell her. "Oh, I see... I think. So you're not going off on me, just... too much of a good thing?"

"Exactly love. Perhaps we could slow the pace a bit, enjoy things more?"

"But I though men... I thought it is all you think about." She blushed vividly.

Christopher felt her blush rising in him as well. "Wull, younger men p'haps. But as we get older we do find time for a few other thoughts. Aand I've certainly put more thought into it... you... more than I did in all the years after losing Rosalind. Can't expect to keep going as we have these last weeks though."

She settled into a resigned smile. "Alright then, rationing in all things, it seems. But I still expect..."

"Regular supplies, Sam. Wouldn't have it otherwise."

And so after a few minutes of tidying themselves and the kitchen, the Foyle's set off for a leisurely day at the river, both wearing rather satisfied smiles that had everyone they met along the way wondering.


	31. Chapter 31

The sun shone brightly through the trees that surrounded the patch of green next to the river. Christopher was in his waders several feet from the bank casting his line as he tried to tease the fish in. Sam, as he had suggested, was propped against a tree with her book open. But every time he glanced over his shoulder to check on her, she was watching him. _Not much progress on the book, I see..._

Just then he felt a tug on his line and the next few minutes were consumed by his attention to reeling in his catch and securing it on his line at the bank until time to leave. By the time he glanced back at his wife, she was prone on the blanket, apparently napping. A warm smile bubbled through him and settled into his features as he watched her. But then remembering her veracious appetite, he turned his attention back to the fish.

The sun was high by the time he decided he'd caught enough trout to last a few days. Carefully he navigated back to the bank, secured his fish, and stepped out of his waders. Glancing at Sam, he thought she was still dozing, so he approached quietly and settled beside her, hoping for a quick wink or two himself.

His wife was capable of being devious, he discovered. As soon as he'd settled, his old battered trilby over his eyes and his legs crossed at his ankles, she rolled over and kissed him longingly. "Thought you'd never get tired of the fish," she said softly.

Lifting his trilby he looked up into her sparkling eyes. "Have a wife to feed now. And she's giving nourishment to another. My duty to provide the fish," he said with a tug at his mouth.

She looked at him with a bemused expression. "You are rather adorable, you know."

"Adorable? I should think that would apply more to you, my darling."

"Mmm... no. Not when you're serious, in your Chief Inspector role. But here, like this... relaxed and content... I can almost envision you as a boy."

He guffawed. "Bit past that, dear girl; but thank you for trying."

Sam released a small huff. "I meant it. There's a boyish quality about you when you aren't worrying over a case or Andrew or... me."

"Sam, I'm very aware of my own age and I..."

"Far too aware, if you ask me," she interrupted. "It's true you are older, Christopher; but you aren't _old._ And there _is_ a boyish charm about you when you aren't worrying. It's in your eyes and it is one of the things I find most appealing about you. So please don't spoil it."

He studied her frustrated look and saw the disappointment in her eyes. He had to salvage this, had to get that look out of her eyes. "One of the things? Oh yes, nearly forgot... my hair and my ears," he said as he recalled the conversation from a few weeks ago. "You thought I might be an elf..."

"Yes, those and there are other things," she replied softly, her features relaxing again.

Seeing the disappointment dissipate, he decided to try to explain what it was that bothered him about his age. "Look love, I don't dwell on my age but the difference in our ages is there. It doesn't worry me so much in the present, but I do worry about the future, about you and our little elf and how you might fare without me around. Or worse, if I should become ill and you have to care for me and the elf."

Sam, being Sam, refused to follow him along that path. "Oh, I shall be alright. And if it comes to it, I'll fob you off on Andrew," she said with twinkling eyes.

Foyle , giving into her optimism, let his eyes roll away from her face. "Fate worse than death," he muttered. Then turning his gaze back to her, he let a grimace drift into a smile. "Alright, we'll have it your way then. But little elves require things, so I will need a job eventually. My pension will take care of us but not the house full of elves you seem to want."

"Oh? You thinking of going back to police work, again?"

He could see the gears shifting in her mind, her expression taking on a wistful look. "Nup, not if I can avoid it. I'll need to find something though. But it can wait a while longer.

She turned contemplative. "Perhaps not so many elves if it is going to put undue burden on you. I rather like having you underfoot every day."

"No place I'd rather be, Sam. But neither of us will feel the same if your little mischief maker," he said as he patted her abdomen, " has to go without because I'm not providing."

"My mischief maker? Seems his father is the one with all the mischief... and the elfin ears to prove it." Her eyes twinkled and she glowed as she fell back to the picnic rug. And Christopher Foyle's lips folded downward into a contented or perhaps even self-satisfied smile.

They ate a leisurely lunch and talked of unimportant things, mostly just enjoying their closeness. After they ate, they took a stroll around the wooded area and Sam fell into telling him again about the time she was nearly blown up in the woods as she and young Jimmy wandered near a bomb a few years before. Christopher didn't like to remember those times he might have lost her, the times bombs exploded around her or even just nearly did. His chest tightened at the thought that he might have lost her, lost this... his last chance at true happiness in life.

Sam looked at him puzzled at first and then realization struck. "It frightened you, didn't it Christopher? So much more than I realized. "

He swallowed back the bad taste that had formed in his mouth as he'd listened to her. "Wull, erm... it did. Quite a lot then aand... even more now that I see what we have. Too many times I could have lost you, Sam; and I don't know how I would've managed."

She melted into him. "Oh my dear Christopher. You always seem so ... so stoic, even hard at times, and yet you really are so very tender inside, aren't you?"

"Mmight be true Sam, at least where it concerns you. " He paused a moment and remembered another time when a woman had said he'd grown hard. "Elizabeth said I had grown hard. She thought it was because I had lost Rosalind."

"Elizabeth?" She seemed confused. But then, "Oh yes, I remember, Mrs. Lewes. You courted her before you left for the war, the last one that is."

"Right. "

"Was she correct? Had you hardened?"

"Perhaps because of the last war. Nnot because of Rosalind. Told Elizabeth that losing Rosalind changed nothing; marrying her had changed everything. She saved me from the darkness that had engulfed me during the war; brought me back to myself. FFeel that way now too, Sam. Mmarrying you has changed everything for me. When we first met, I was still grieving, I think. And worrying... about Andrew. But you made it better, made things seem possible again. And now, I feel as if I am given a new chance. Coming out of a dark place, Sam; you've brought me out of it. "

"Golly. I didn't realize... I mean, I knew you still loved her and that you were lonely but... I didn't realize."

"Careful not to let anyone see; thought it was best, especially for Andrew. Couldn't let him know that I had lost hope. All that kept me going in those years was raising him. He was my hold on sanity. And then you walked into my office that day and slowly, even in the middle of a bloody war, I was hopeful again. And now... wull, world's a bit brighter."

"I did that?" she asked in innocence.

"You did; you do," he replied just before he kissed her.

"Mmmmm... thought we were rationing," she cooed as their lips parted. He nuzzled against her cheek and then into her hair to tease at her ear. "Found an extra coupon," he whispered back.

* * *

Thanks to all who continue to read and review. I do want to take a moment to respond to part of one from "Guest". In their review they said, "Now, if you're willing to continue to be realistic, you should address the different tastes and interests of two people of such disparate ages. Then you can follow up by showing a father who can't keep up with his small children and finish by showing her trying to cope with teenagers while nursing an elderly husband."

Yes, there are challenges in such a marriage. But as for a woman being able to cope with it all, we've been doing it for generations. There was a time that it was quite common for much older men to marry much younger wives. My g-g grandfather did. After my g-g- grandmother died, he remarried and they had several more children. He was in his sixties at the time and she was mid twenties. For my grandfather, the children who were his aunts and uncles seemed more like siblings. G-G-Grandad's second wife didn't have to nurse him until the very end, when he was well into his 90's. And if the family stories are true, he not only managed to keep up with his offspring but built a small business empire (for his day) while doing it. I remember meeting two of my grandfather's aunts who were raised with him and they both had twinkles in their eyes when they talked about their dear papa, so they certainly didn't feel as if they'd missed out on anything. Also, we're talking about child rearing in the late 40's and into the 50's; very different than it is today. Dads weren't expected to be as hands on as fathers are now. As for dealing with teens and nursing an aging husband, we do it all the time except it is our parents we must look after. I did it, taking care of my dying mother while still having teens in the house and a healthy husband who still needed looking after too. My mother raised 4 with an ailing husband and an ailing parent. It isn't easy but the joys of the special moments are worth the difficulties. Besides, Christopher is in his early 50's at the time of this story, so not _that_ old. But it isn't in my plan to follow them all through til the end of his life to examine the good and the bad of the situation. At least not in this story; perhaps food for further stories however.


	32. Chapter 32

A week later Sam seemed restless. Christopher watched her as she moved around the front parlor attempting to dispense with some of the dust that insisted on coating the furniture. Her movement was fidgety, almost frenetic and it concerned him. An hour later, a loud clatter sounded from the kitchen and he left his writing desk to see that all was in order. He found Sam near the hob, a pot n the floor and food splattered all around. But it was her sobs that concerned him. "Sam?"

She looked up, almost in a panic. "Oh, I didn't want... You'll think I'm terribly unfit for...I just can't believe..."

He moved toward her, sidestepping most of the mess and gently took her in his arms. "I'll not hear any talk of you being unfit for anything, my darling. Accidents happen, I'm just relieved you weren't hurt." He leaned back slightly and looked into her face. "You aren't, are you?"

"No... just... I was trying to make this new recipe I found in the ladies magazine and I... " she sniffed at least twice prompting Foyle to pull his handkerchief from his pocket for her. After dabbing her eyes gently, he handed it her. "You what, love?" he asked as he pulled her back to him. "Oh, I turned to look at the recipe again and must've caught the handle of the pot and it slid off the hob and... well, you see where it landed."

Christopher looked down at the floor and tried to make out what she might have been preparing. There was no meat that he could see. "Mmmm, mostly vegetables?"

Sam nodded. "I was to add a bit of ham later, only of course it would be Spam instead. And served over potatoes. "

Eyeing the disaster on the floor, he grunted. "Wull, least the Spam hadn't made it to the pot." An idea sparked in his mind. "Look, why don't you go up and have a nice soak in the tub, relax a bit while I clean this up. And then we'll go out. Been cooped up here for days; bound to make anyone a little out of sorts and edgy."

"Supper out?" He could see her eyes light at the thought of it. "Aand perhaps the cinema afterwards. I saw in the paper there is a new James Mason playing."

"But I can't just leave you to clean all this up," she cried.

Rubbing her back and holding her close he tried to calm her. "Sam, you're overwrought. Too much energy for just staying around the house. A warm bath will do you good and then we'll go out. Haven't had a night out in some time and that's my fault; too set in my old habits. Now off with you. I expect to hear the bath as quickly as you get upstairs. This won't take long," he said as he motioned to the mess on the floor. "Then I'll be up to change. Alright?" He released her and back up a step, looking into her tear filled face. "Please Sam, let me take care of this."

She looked down at their feet and sighed. "I just wish I were a better wife to you. I want so much for everything to be perfect."

Lifting her chin so that she had to look at him, Foyle smiled, his lips creeping up rather than down. "Darling girl, everything is as perfect as any man has a right to expect. This was just a mishap. I could be quite content the rest of my life cleaning up kitchen mishaps as long as you and now our little elf are safe and happy. Please don't make this more than it is."

Her expression lightened and the tears seemed to dry up as she took a deep breath. "Oh I do love you so, darling man."

Another smile twitched at his mouth. "And I love you. Now off to your bath," he said as he turned her, patted her bum and kissed the back of her neck. He watched to be sure she was doing as she was told and then set about cleaning the kitchen.

By the time the left Steep Lane, Sam was in better spirits, even laughing as they walked toward the small restaurant that Christopher had chosen for their meal. The food had been ordered and they were lingering over their drinks while waiting for it to arrive. Sam looked across the table at her husband, who was gazing at her with a twinkle in his eyes, and smiled warmly. "You are such a clever man, Christopher. I think I really did need a night out."

Twinkling blue eyes were joined by and answering warm smile. "My pleasure. Should have thought of this earlier in the week. Perhaps we'll make this a weekly habit, at least until the elf arrives." As he watched her expression brighten even more, Foyle thought he would take her out every night if this was her response.

The supper was delicious, considering how little the food establishments had to work with these days. Unfortunately, Christopher's choice in movies wasn't as successful. Sam was initially excited about seeing James Mason on the screen, but as the film progressed the dark tone of it seemed to weigh on her. _Odd Man Out_ brought far too many memories of the broken lives they'd witnessed when they worked together as detective and driver. For Christopher, the list of broken lives was much longer than for Sam, but he'd found a way to distance himself from the sadness of it all. Sam, being far more sensitive and also much more inclined to believe something should be done about it, was caught up in the drama playing out on the screen. _Next time I'll find a bloody comedy_ , he thought as he felt the tension rising in Sam.

Relieved when it ended, Foyle ushered Sam out into the open air, sucking in a deep breath of himself to relieve the tension. "I'm sorry darling," he said softly as they began walking back to Steep Lane. "Didn't realize it would be so ..."

"Noir," she finished. It was rather bleak, wasn't it? I mean, When the star dies in the end... "

"Yes, ddon't expect that," he said somberly.

Once they arrived home and had hung hats and coats on the hooks, Christopher went into the front room, turning on a lamp. "Wireless?" he asked Sam, hoping there would be something lighter to take their minds off the cinema.

"Yes, alright," she replied as she settled into what had been Andrew's chair but was now being claimed more and more as her own.

Christopher tuned in and found a music program. He recognized the opening notes of an Anne Shelton song that had been popular in the first years of the war. He turned to his wife, a knowing smile twitching at his lips as tenderness radiated from his eyes.

 _Do I want to be with you_ _  
_ _As the years come and go_ _  
_ _Only forever, if you care to know_

Christopher took a step toward her and held out his hand in a silent request for a dance.

 _Would I grant all your wishes_ _  
_ _And be proud of the task_ _  
_ _Only forever if someone should ask_

She looked up at him, surprised. But her smile answered his invitation. Standing, she let herself be pulled into his embrace and the two began to move in unison, as if they danced together often. He tightened his hold on her, bringing her hand to his chest as his other hand slid down her spine just below what was normally considered appropriate.

 _How long would it take me to be near if you beckoned_ _  
_ _Off hand I would figure less than a second_

"I thought you didn't dance," she murmured into his ear, her mouth only millimeters away, causing a thrill that reached his toes.

 _Do you think I'd remember_ _  
_ _How you look when you smile_ _  
_ _Only forever oh, that's putting it mild_

"Nnot usually." he replied just as softly. "Making an exception... for you."

 _How long would it take me to be near if you beckoned_ _  
_ _Off hand I would figure less than a second_

It had been years since he'd danced and his steps didn't resemble the dances Sam was most familiar with, but somehow they continued to move in harmony. Their bodies melded, each perfectly content with the warmth that surrounded them as they danced in small circles around the sitting room.

.  
 _Do you think I'd remember_ _  
_ _How you look when you smile_ _  
_ _Only forever and it's putting it mild_

The song continued and the couple continued even after if ended. That is, until another tune began to play with a much faster tempo that Christopher wasn't inclined to try to match. Stepping back, he treated Sam to a rare full smile, complete with crinkles at his eyes that twinkled with delight.

"I think I'll always remember this dance," Sam cooed. "And your smile after. But I am a little put out with you for letting me think you don't dance."

He tilted his head slightly. "haven't danced in years, Sam; not since ..."

"Rosalind died," she finished for him.

"Mmmmm, yes; before actually, well before... I, erm... I never felt like I was very good at it."

"Christopher Foyle, you move like a dancer all the time. You might not know the particular steps for a dance, but you make up for it with your sense of rhythm." SHe looked at him with a mixture of frustration and determination. "This will not be our only dance, Mr. Foyle."

Christopher blinked. slowly, taking in her compliment and her command. "Er...um... 'spose not... as long as I can hold you close. You give me my balance, Sam."

Sam started to smile but then a shadow crossed her face. "What is this about, Christopher?"

Gobsmacked by her sudden change in demeanor and her question, his eyes widened. "What?"

"You take me to dinner and then the cinema, and then surprise me with a dance. What are you up to?"

"Sam, you were sobbing in my arms earlier. Just thought to give you a reprieve. Thought you might enjoy a break from our routine." He gave her his best innocent look and was gratified to see its effect.

"Suddenly she reached for his hand."Upstairs... now," she commanded as she turned and tugged at him to follow.

"At your service, M'am," he replied with a dip of his knees before he followed her out of the room.

* * *

Anne Shelton was very popular during the war years and beyond. She has been called England's greatest female singer. Check out some of songs on YouTube and you'll hear why.


	33. Chapter 33

I do hope everyone is still with me. But even if no one else is reading, I'm still going to keep posting until the story is done. And for those few who are sticking with me, I do appreciate that you are. Please know I am trying to post more often. Some weeks it just isn't possible.

* * *

Once their appetites had been satisfied and their bodies had cooled, Christopher lay staring at the ceiling, ruminating. Sam was a constant source of surprise. He'd realized early on that she had hidden strengths, a generous heart, and even though naive at times a sense of justice. He'd also known she was passionate. He hadn't realized the depths of her passion, however. And it was resurrecting so much of what he'd felt as a younger man; passions that went far beyond the bedroom.

His career, and especially the war years, had left him jaded somewhat in his view of his fellow man. But Sam's insistence on seeing the good in people was chipping away at that. And her sense of fair play was tugging at his own sense of justice. Perhaps Elizabeth had been right that day in his sitting room; perhaps he had hardened. He certainly hadn't flinched when Sir Reginald Walker shot himself after they had uncovered his involvement with the Nazis and his son's participation in two murders. Nor had it much bothered him when Martin Keppler, if that was even his real name, shot himself after it was revealed that he was a Nazi spy. He had flinched that time upon hearing the gunshot, thinking it might have been intended for him. He'd returned to police work after that to fill in until the end of the war. But it had been time for him to retire from police work when he did. He'd witnessed far too many occasions where men, good men, stayed on too long and simply quit caring. He didn't want to be a hard, uncaring man for Sam and their child.

And now, as he contemplated his life with his young wife and the future with a child on the way, he wondered how he could support them. Hilda Pierce had offered him an opportunity with MI-5 but it hadn't appealed to him and still didn't. That was a dark, unscrupulous world and he wanted nothing more to do with it. So now what, he asked himself.

Sam shifted in her sleep, her arm reaching for him in her dreams and he couldn't help the satisfied smile that inched across his face. He wasn't certain about his prospects as an earner outside of police work, but he was certain he would find a way. He simply had to, for all their sakes. And if he needed more inspiration to persevere in finding a new job, then his wife's nighttime antics were certain to provide it.

Sam curled into him and let loose a satisfied sigh before settling once again into contented sleep. God, what had he done in his life to deserve this, he wondered. His life with Rosalind had been a blessed one, full of so many good things, and when she died he'd accepted that the enchanting happiness in his life had too. Oh, he'd found contentment, eventually. And despite the frustrations of some of Andrew's blunders and misadventures, Christopher was proud of his son and ever so grateful that the boy had survived the war in relatively good shape. So many came back wounded, either in body or soul. But Andrew, while changed, hadn't lost himself in the war and in time would put it behind him. But real happiness, the blissful sort of happiness... that came again into his life through Sam.

There would be challenges, he conceded quietly to himself. If nothing else, the difference in their ages would present problems. But Sam had matured through the war and was wise beyond her years. And he, he was made to feel young again... well, younger anyway, thanks to Sam.

"You're thinking awfully hard over there," her groggy voice intruded into his thoughts.

"Mmmm..." he muttered.

"Not dark thoughts, I hope," she said as she scooted even closer to him.

Tucking his arm around her to draw her head onto his shoulder, he grunted. "Nnnooo, not dark, just... assessing, I suppose."

"Assessing what?"

"How very fortunate I am to have you, Mrs. Foyle."

"Mmmm... I'll remind you of that often."

He let a smile creep across his face. "Already do, in many small ways."

He was rewarded with a kiss for that. And then she settled back against him, both content in their warm cocoon.

After a moment's silence, she murmured. "Not worrying, are you?"

Another smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. Her study of Christopher Foyle over the years had left her knowing far too much, he thought cheekily. And when he expressed that thought, she snickered. Then came, "What is worrying you?" Her question, while asked innocently enough, had undertones of concern.

"A job," he said softly. "Just can't see where to go with that."

"Mmmmm," she hummed. "There's your book. Could finish that."

"Not likely to bring much in, Sam. Wasn't meant to be about the earnings."

"Oh? then why...?"

"Wull, that should be clear enough. Needed something to occupy my time and... needed a reason to see you often." A slow smile grew at his lips as he watched and felt her reaction to that.

First she let go a subtle coo and then she kissed him, and then... she sat bolt upright and glared down at him. "Wait, you... you knew... I mean, you wanted to see me and..."

"Needed a reason, Sam. Couldn't simply show up on your doorstep every other day. Wouldn't have been quite proper in your landlady's eyes... or your father's. But if you were helping me with the book..." He paused to let that sink in before continuing. "Needed to see you, Sam. It was my one regret about resigning."

The rigidity went out of her and she sighed. "Right. Truth was, I wasn't a very good typist, was I. I couldn't understand then why you had me helping you but I was afraid to say anything, afraid I wouldn't see you if I did. And I needed to see you as well."

He reached for her, pulling her back to him. "Alright in the end, although I suppose if I had spoken up you'd have had an easier time of it."

""Can't do that, Christopher; can't think like that. What happened, happened. And honestly, after thinking about it for some time, I've decided neither of us would have the courage to... to be where we are now, if it hadn't happened. Brought a lot of things into focus, don't you think?"

"P'haps," he conceded as he stroked his fingers along her arm.

She settled against him snuggly and they both settled into a state of contentment. But after a few moments of silence, Sam's head popped up again. "You could write a new book, a murder mystery. You could use one of the cases from your files as a beginning. Mysteries are awfully popular and with you being able to write from the inside of an investigation, from actual knowledge, it would be very thrilling."

His lips twitched with amusement. "Long hours pouring over the files, interviewing people who may or may not have an inkling about what happened, and dealing with ridiculous demands of my superiors? That's thrilling?"

"No, not that part. But collecting all the pieces and putting them together. Like Dashiell Hammett or Ellery Queen. Or perhaps like Dorothy Sayers or Agatha Christie. Or even Conan Doyle. "

Mmmm, you do realize that those authors or either American or women... or dead," he teased.

"Not Ellery Queen?" she asked with some concern.

"Wull, no, not dead; but Americans, yes. But you do realize that it is two men writing those novels?"

"Two of them? Really? I wasn't aware..."

"Yup. " He sighed. "So I should write a detective novel? And who is to be my Watson? S'pose I could use Milner as the basis for it."

"You could," she sighed as her finger traced circles on his chest. "Or... perhaps your Watson could be a woman? "

"S'pose so. Nnot sure how to devise that, however." He was teasing her and waited with a small grin on his face for her reaction.

With a huff, Sam fired back. "Use Miss Marple. Your aging detective should get along quite well with her."

"Mmmmm, who's to say my detective would an aging one? Mmight write him as a younger man, more Milner's age. Would need a younger protégée, don't you think?"

"You can write Father Brown, for all I care," she huffed again.

"Least Chesterton was English. Bbut Father Brown would hardly have a beautiful young protégé about. P'haps need to invent a new detective for this project; one that might seem a bit more enticing for your young woman."

"That's easy then," she said softly as she kissed his cheek. "Use yourself as your model."

"Wwouldn't work, Sam. The young protégé is meant to be enchanted with the detective, nnot the other way around."

"Oh you just say the most... delicious things. " She kissed him to make her point, leaving the conversation about detective novels for another time as they settled into one another for a comfortable sleep.


	34. Chapter 34

Many, many thanks to all who left reviews. You are all awesome! So here we are again. Is anyone else as hungry for some on screen Foyle as I am?

* * *

On a rainy day not many days later, Christopher looked up from his copy of the latest Hornblower to see Sam engrossed in her own reading. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he read the title of her magazine and as realization dawned, a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. " _Greatest Detective Stories_ my love? Missing police work, are you?"

Sam looked up from her reading, confusion causing a slight frown before she caught up with him. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do miss police work. I saw this magazine on the stand and thought I'd see about the stories. They're all short stories, you see. Several of the best crime novelists started in magazines like this, you know. So I just thought..." She slowed down as she watched the smile on his face turn downward and his eyes begin to sparkle with his amusement.

"Still believe I should write a crime novel then?"

"I do," she said frankly. "Your stories would be ever so much better than the ones in this edition. Why, I had the first two solved before I was even half way through."

"So it wouldn't be enough to write things as they happened; I would need to add something extra to create more mystery?"

"You could. But there are several that you could write about that would be much better than these stories and you wouldn't have to deviate at all."

"Mmmmm, not really much of a writer, Sam. It would sound like one of my reports; very dry and uninteresting."

"Then I'll write one," she said defiantly.

Pulling his lips down again, this time to contain his amused doubt that she would, he tilted his head slightly. "Wull, guess you could..." She settled back against the arm of the sofa, her feet curled under her, and gazed out toward the window. "I know I could. I just have to decide which story to write."

"Wull, some you still can't... secrets act... best not try any that involve that. "

"Oh, I know. I'll write about the Sir Leonard Spenser-Jones' case. That was a complete surprise, lots of intrigue."

"Sspenser-Jones? " He was dumbfounded. "You erm... going to include his... erm... artwork."

A slight blush crept into Sam's cheeks. as her eyes suddenly found something interesting to look at off to the side. "No, not really. Wouldn't add anything to the story, I don't believe."

"Nnooo, probably right. Bbut certainly added something to our story."

Her gaze fixed on him. "What? How?"

"Ssaw that drawing and... wull, can't describe the jealousy that went through me. He had seen you... Saw what I hadn't, except p'haps in my dreams."

"You hadn't."

"No, I hadn't. And had no intention to ever. I was almost resigned to having to see you as some young fellow's wife and _him_ seeing you like that, but not a man even older than I am. Aand... in that way. Good thing he was already dead because I might have been tempted to kill him myself otherwise. Wasn't right of him, Sam, to take your innocence in that way."

"But he didn't," she declared. "I'll admit I wasn't comfortable with the arrangement but he never touched me."

"His eyes did and I don't care how old he was, some part of him reacted as a man to the sight of you like that. And I know how easily artists can sometimes talk their models into posing uncovered. There was one that tried to talk Rosalind into it just after we were married. Andrew wasn't quite making his presence known yet and we attended an art show over at Chichester. The artist chatted her up and had her just about ready to agree to posing for him. I saw what was happening and stopped it, just as I would have done with Spenser-Jones. Mmight've been looking at you with an artist's eyes but it was clear in his drawing that he found certain parts of you more noteworthy than others. "

"What? How can you say that?"

"His inattention to the details of your face and his attention elsewhere."

"Oh, I never noticed," she said, obviously mortified.

"Wull, no matter now."

"But that sketch was collected as evidence."

"Which I collected from Milner later. It is safely tucked away upstairs. No one to see it but us ever."

Her eyes glittered as she stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. "You've had it all this time?"

He could see her mind turning and struggled not to tease her. "I have. Rolled up and tucked away in the back of the cupboard in our room. Didn't want anyone stumbling onto it."

"But you didn't, I mean... you never..."

"Peeked enough to know it was the one I had asked for and then tucked it away. Haven't looked at it since," he assured her.

"So, Paul knows..." Her face was red but the rest of her had gone pale.

"Told him that Sir Leonard had started the drawing long ago and sketched your face onto it. Seemed to accept it."

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Sam looked at him, her eyes filled with adoration. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"And I am going to write that story," she said, returning to the point of the conversation.

"No doubt," he said with a tug at his lips.

Over the next few days, Sam proved her determination to indeed write the story. She set up a work space at the end of the dining table and each day worked the better part of the afternoon, scribbling away with pen and paper. Once, when she had left her papers open as she went upstairs to the water closet, Christopher risked a peek at her work.

Quite a lot of ink filled the pages, most as marks through parts she had written and obviously wished to discard. She was attempting to embellish an already almost unbelievable story, or at least it would be to many of the magazine's readers. As Christopher struggled through a few pages, he worried that she was in for disappointment and wondered how he might help her without being seen as interfering. Hearing her footsteps on the stairs, he quickly flipped the pages back and settled once again in his chair as if he hadn't left it. Sam settled once again at her work and after a few minutes let out a huff.

"Something wrong?"

"No," she replied softly. "I just... I can't make it sound as exciting as it was," she lamented.

"Wull, can I help?"

She turned and smiled at him. "Thank you, but I said I am going to do it and I am."

"Right," he conceded. "P'haps have someone look at it then? No me, but ... someone who's opinion you trust?"

"Perhaps."

"And Sam..."

"Yes?"

"When you've gotten it all written, we'll hire a typist. At least let me make that part of it easier for you?"

"But I can type it," she insisted.

"Yes, but mmight be nice to submit it to the magazine in my lifetime, don't you think," he replied as the corners of his mouth tugged down.

That earned him her best attempt at a glare before a smile bloomed on her face. "Oh you; you are simply impossible!"

Rising from his chair again, he walked over to her. Bending down, he placed a kiss at the back of her neck and lingered. "Impossibly taken with you," he whispered softly. She looked up at him, her eyes soft with pleasure. "Oh, you do say the nicest things sometimes."

"Mmmmm," was his answer as he stood straight again. "You um, going to be at this awhile?"

"About another hour. Why?"

"Thought I might take a walk. Wondered if you are free to join me?"

"You go; I'm determined to keep at this."

"Alright then," he said as he moved toward the entry to collect his hat and overcoat. "Shouldn't be long. Just need to move a bit; too much sitting around lately."

"Alright," she replied, her attention already turning back to her story.

Once outside, Christopher headed off toward the high street, thinking he'd buy his bride some flowers. But as he passed the bakery, he noticed there were some pastries on display. Sugar was still difficult to come by and any sweets the baker could manage were usually gone by mid morning, so he quickly gave up the idea of flowers. Sam would much prefer the sweets. Ducking into the shop, he studied the small selection and decided on a tart.

Walking back to Steep Lane, Foyle was happy with himself. He'd lent support to Sam and hadn't interfered. And to top off the day, he was bringing her sweets. She would be pleased, indeed. But as he entered the house, he heard crying from the other room and went to investigate.

"Ssam?" he asked tenderly, unsure of the source of her tears. He'd found Sam curled in his chair by the fire with tears streaming down her face. Obviously she'd been crying for some time. She looked up at his, surprised and chagrinned at him finding her in such a state. Hurrying across the room, he reached out his hand to caress her face. "Wwhat's wrong?"

"I just can't get the story right," she said before a sob overtook her. "I... I don't want the baby, or me, to be a burden and I thought if I could help, bring a little money in..."

Christopher pulled her up to stand with his arms wrapped around her. "Oh Sam, you're hardly a burden; more joy than I could have imagined. And the baby, wull, while not exactly expected quite so soon, was inevitable don't you think? And while an added expense, certainly not a heavy burden. Certainly one that is outweighed by the pleasure. And for me, an undeserved honor."

"Honor?" she sniffled.

"Yup, for a seasoned old bloke like me ... A beautiful young woman is having my baby, _you_ are having my baby and it is actually a welcome event. Very honored. Would be a real prat not to 'ppreciate it."

"But... you're so worried about a job," she sniffled.

"Wull, want all the best for this child; this one and any others that might happen. We'd get by without a job but just think it best to have some extra income, is all. Certainly not pressing enough to put you in this state. And Sam, you really must get the idea of you being a burden out of your head. "

She sniffled again as she rested her head against him, her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what, in god's name?" Frustration with his own mindlessness was rising. He should have known Sam would have read more into his concern over a job. He'd let on far too much about how much it worried him.

"Ffor... letting it get to me so much, the story and..."

"Sam, you've nothing to apologize for. You were trying to be helpful, which is one of the very qualities that I find so attractive in you. But let's leave the employment worries to me; you have a much more important job taking care of yourself and our baby."

"And you," she added with a small bit of humor.

"And me," he agreed as his mouth dropped into one of his trademark smiles. "Oh, and I brought you something." His eyes twinkled as he turned away from her momentarily to retrieve the small bag with the treat from the bakery. Handing it to her, he watched her face to capture her reaction.

React, she did. First she looked at him quizzically. And then as she opened the bag, he thought she almost looked as if she were salivating. But when she realized what was contained inside, her face lit with excitement. "Oh golly," she exclaimed. "A sweet tart?"

"Yup. Was passing the baker's and there were a few. Thought I might surprise you."

"Oh, you have. B...but there is only one?"

"For you, love; the whole tart. I shall have my pleasure watching your enjoyment."

"But that feels so... selfish on my part."

"Not at all. I find I rather enjoy watching your delight with food."

"I'll make tea and..."

"Yes, splendid idea. I'll help."

The two worked together in the kitchen to prepare the tea and sat at the dining table, Foyle sipping his tea as Sam entertained him with her relishing of the tart, both thinking how lucky they were in the other.


	35. Chapter 35

Later in the week, Christopher answered the door to J.J. Josephson. "Was calling in on Mrs. Dyer down the road and thought while I was here I'd check in on your lovely wife," he told Foyle as he stepped through the door.

"Oh, right. Thought you might be here to see how I'm surviving," Christopher said with a dip of his knees as he teased the doctor.

"Oh Christopher, we both know you'll do just fine. If anything, your young bride has lifted you from the doldrums you insisted on dwelling in after the late Mrs. Foyle died. Added years to your existence, I'll wager."

"I am feeling, erm... not quite so old," Foyle agreed. "I'll fetch Sam for you, if you'd like to go through," he said as he opened the door to the sitting room.

Josephson nodded and walked through, making himself comfortable in the room as only one who had a long acquaintance with the Foyles would. Christopher went up the steps, an extra lightness in his step. He wasn't certain why, but he awoke feeling especially optimistic that morning and feeling quite light hearted.

"Sam," he said softly as he entered the bedroom. "Darling..." He sat on the bed next to her and began to stroke her arm gently to awaken her from her nap. She'd seemed tired after lunch and he'd suggested it.

Responding to his gentle prodding, Sam moaned and then lifted her hand to let it settle contentedly on his leg, just above his knee. "Mmmm, how long..."

"You've been up here about an hour, love. And I wouldn't have wakened you except Josephson is here. Was in the neighborhood and wanted to check on you."

"Oh crikey," she said as her eyes flew open. "You don't suppose he thinks there is something wrong, do you?"

"No love. He hasn't seen you in several weeks. J.J. just likes to keep up with his patients. Shall I tell him you'll be down in a moment."

A yawn preceded her response. "Yes, alright. Just give me time to go across and... you know," she said with a small blush. "Then I'll be down."

It amused Christopher that something as normal as mentioning the water closet to him could still cause her cheeks to color, but he supposed it was indicative of the newness of living with him still was. "Yes, of course. I'll prepare some tea. Probably what J.J. is really here for ."

Christopher was just serving tea to the kindly doctor when Sam appeared in the doorway. Josephson started to take the offered cup but hesitated. "How about a drop or two of whatever is in the bottle?" He tilted his head toward Christopher's meager stash of spirits on the sideboard. "Bit early in the day, don't you think?" Foyle replied with a twinkle in his eye and a quirk at his mouth. "Nonsense," the doctor shot back.

As Christopher stepped back to add the desired liquid to the cup, Josephson chided, "You're not a copper any longer Christopher. " Sam smiled as she watched her husband's head come up, his face struggling not to reveal his amusement. "And glad of it," he finally answered.

She stepped into the room just as J.J. took the refreshed cup. "Hallo," she greeted him happily, pushing away the worry that had tried to pervade her when Christopher woke her with news that he was there. The doctor was mid sip and hurriedly set his cup aside to attempt to stand but Sam waved him back in his seat. "Please, enjoy your tea. I'm sure Christopher has made it quite special for you," she said cheekily. Josephson settled back in the chair as the couple exchanged amused glances.

Christopher motioned to the teapot he'd set on the dining table and cocked his head, an eyebrow raised in question. Sam nodded and smiled before turning her attention to the doctor. "Christopher said you are here to check up on me?"

"Well yes, was in the neighborhood. But you look well enough and Christopher said you were having a nap, so I assume you are getting enough rest?"

"Yes, thank you," Sam replied as Christopher handed her a cuppa. "Christopher is very watchful and refuses to let me do anything too strenuous . And if I appear the least bit tired, he practically shoves me off to bed." Her shining eyes belied her grumbling tone. Christopher settled in his usual chair with his own cuppa and smiled at his wife.

" Well that's good to hear. So many of the husbands are busy readjusting to life at home after the war that they are overlooking how hard the wives are working too. And as horrible the circumstances were for so many of those men, they seem to forget it wasn't exactly a picnic for those of us here either. I'm glad to hear Christopher is being mindful of your health."

"Oh he is, very much so... too much at times." Her eyes darted to her husband's face to catch a glimpse of his amused tenderness.

"And so you're sharing your news now, or must I still keep it under my hat?"

"Oh please do... keep it under your hat, I mean." Sam answered quickly. "We haven't told anyone yet. "

"Oh, but I thought... well, it is welcome news, is it not?" the doctor seemed perplexed.

"It is," she answered, "but, with what happened with the... other baby," she nearly choked on the words. Christopher shifted in his chair, ready to go to her side when she shook her head. "I wanted to be certain before we said anything, especially to my parents."

Christopher sat, watching his wife with just a twinge of awe. At times she seemed so easily flustered but underneath it all, she was very strong, something of which he'd been aware from early on but the depth of her strength still surprised him from time to time. To speak of the lost child was painful for her, he knew. Far too many associations with that one for it not to be. And yet she was so looking forward to this one. She said because it was his child this time and he believed her. But he also thought that her inability to mourn the lost child weighed on her conscience. This child would be the beneficiary of her need to cast out those demons and pour out her love on her child. But seeing the bit of surprise in J.J's expression alerted Christopher that perhaps it was time to begin telling everyone. He would speak with her about it later though, not in front of the doctor.

"Yes, well I can understand your reluctance, dear girl," J.J. was saying. "But now that you're past the initial months, it might be nice to share the news and let others fawn over you a bit. Also, considering your past year or so, I believe I'd like to see you more often, perhaps once a fortnight? Must stay ahead of any possible complications."

Sam blinked hard at the doctor's suggestion and Foyle was taken by surprise as well. "You tthink something mmight be... wrong?" he asked.

"No. It is easy to see that Samantha is the picture of health. But with that radiation exposure, we'll want to watch carefully for any signs of trouble. Just precautionary, don't you see?"

"Yes, right..." Foyle was watching Sam, concerned by her stricken expression.

"Yes well, time for me to be off then," J.J. said, noticing the quiet concern of his old friend for his new bride. "Keep doing what you are doing... and do allow yourselves the joy of this time. " He rose from his chair and went to the door with Christopher on his heels. Once he'd seen the doctor off, Christopher returned to Sam, who sat still in her place on the sofa.

"Sam?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I'm fine, darling."

"Right," he replied, unconvinced. "What J.J. said, about sharing our news; do you suppose we ought to make a trip to your parents? We could travel up on Monday or Tuesday and be home by the week's end, so we wouldn't disturb your father's schedule too much."

"Yes, I suppose," Sam sighed. "I'll call them tonight."

"Yes. But before that, how about supper out? I think it will be good for us to be out for awhile."

"Oh, that would be lovely." His mood lifted considerably seeing her brighten up at his suggestion. "How shall we spend our afternoon?"

"Wull, there is a matinee at the cinema. Perhaps that and an early supper?"

"Oh, jolly good. I'll just go up and freshen up then?"

"Yes love, and I'll need to change as well."

Less than an hour later the Foyle's left the house on Steep Lane for an afternoon and early evening out, walking hand in hand toward the high street.


	36. Chapter 36

Sam did call her parents to speak with them about a visit. Her father had several obligations for the coming week, so the Foyle's journey to Lyminster was delayed a week. Sam was relieved.

Christopher read her relief quickly when she told him of the delay and wondered why she didn't want to tell them the news of an impending grandchild. After several days of her evading his less direct inquiries, he finally just asked directly. "Sam, why don't you want to go to your parent's? You haven't seen them since our wedding and I'd think you would like to, especially to consult with your mother with those things most daughters consult with mothers about on the topics of marriage and children."

Sam let out a sigh. "I know I should," she replied guiltily. "But I don't dare bring up the more... " her face scrunched as she paused to find the right words, "Personal details of marriage," she finally concluded. "And I really don't want to hear her thoughts about having babies. She is frail, but not as much as she wants everyone to believe. And I'm quite sure I'll hear how difficult it was for her when she was pregnant with me and that she had an awful time with delivery and most likely that I was a fussy baby." Sam dipped her head, her lips working as they often did when she contemplated things, especially unpleasant ones.

"Look Love, we just won't let the conversation go there," Christopher said. "You or I will find a way to take the conversation elsewhere."

"I know you'll try," she worried. "But Mother isn't that easily dissuaded. "And Father... I have no idea how he will take the news."

"I would think he will be pleased." Christopher tried to reassure her but it was clear that she wasn't accepting it.

Shaking her head negatively, she bit her lower lip. "No, he'll give me his look, the one he has always given me when he believes I've been... disappointing."

Christopher's brows furrowed. "What could he possibly find disappointing?"

"That I... we ... have been at it. He was always very clear about well, even in marriage there can be too much of a good thing." She peeked up at him from under her brows.

"Too much of... " Christopher took a deep breath. "Christ Sam, do you think he really believes our marriage is a celibate one?" He took a moment to calm himself before continuing. "And wouldn't he, even if he does have a very narrow view of... relations, wouldn't he acknowledge that the whole point is to have a family and provide a caring home for the children? He and your mother did have you, after all."

"Yes, but... "

"No Sam, I think you are putting your parents in too tight a box. I have no idea of the nature of their marriage other than they managed to produce a lovely young woman and nurture her until she was ready to be on her own. But I wouldn't think the fact that we are having a child will come as a great shock to them."

"But they'd been married five years before I was born. They'll surely think we rushed into it. And... and I don't mind for my sake so much but surely Father will give you the eye."

Now Christopher was amused. His lips turning down into one of his restrained smiles, he chuckled. "Wull, I think I can bear it."

Sam looked up at him, her storm clouds floating away. "I just don't want him to treat you like that."

"I know Love, but it will be alright."

"I hope you are right," she said with a sigh.

As their day of departure neared, Sam seemed more and more anxious about telling her parents until finally Christopher offered a suggestion as they drove towards Lyminister. . "No need to say anything immediately on arrival. We'll erm... test the waters?"

Sam smiled at his questioning suggestion and lifted brow over an amused tug downward at the corner of his mouth. "Right... yes, I ... I think that will help.

The Stewarts greeted them warmly and Foyle left Sam to chat with her mother as he followed her father up the stairs to their room. "We put you in the room closest to the bath, Christopher," the older man said. Christopher paused a moment, the thought flashing through his mind that perhaps Sam hadn't been wrong in her assessment of her father's thoughts on marital relations and they were to have separate rooms. But as the reverend opened the door to the room and placed Sam's bag that he was carrying on a lowboy near the cupboard, Foyle sighed with relief.

Placing his own bag on a chair nearby, he looked around the room. "Very nice. Was this Sam's room?"

His father-in-law straightened considerably, growing even taller as he looked down at Christopher. "Samantha's room was down the hall, next to ours. But once she married, we've redone the room for my wife. This was a sitting room for her on her frail days. We decided to move Sam's things in here. Thought you might like a bit of privacy."

"Wull, certainly is a bright, cheery room," Foyle replied as he pondered his in-law's new room arrangements. _Perhaps Sam wasn't as far off the mark about her father's view of things as I'd thought..._

Downstairs the two men rejoined the women in the front room. As soon as Christopher saw Sam's face, he knew she was struggling in the conversation with her mother. Her face brightened when she saw him though, her eyes pleading for reprieve. "Christopher, I was just telling Mother about our house," she said in an effort to pull him into the conversation.

"Oh?" He settled next to her on the setee. "Nnot much to tell, really. Sam has plans for a fresh look, but it seems with rationing there aren't many options," he directed at Mrs. Stewart.

The Reverand settled into a chair matching the one his wife occupied. "So how are you enjoying your retirement, Christopher?" Iain Stewart's tone was commanding and dismissve all at once, leaving Foyle with the impression the man thought less of him for being retired.

"Oh wull, quite well as a matter of fact," Christopher replied with a smile that he didn't completely feel. "Sam keeps me busy and…"

"Yes, Samantha can be quite demanding what with all the predicaments she finds herself in; always has. Her mother and I were always on our toes for her next adventure." His expression was benevolent as he gazed toward his daughter but Foyle could see the effect the words had on Sam and he didn't like it one bit.

"Wull, wouldn't call her demanding. Sam's actually quite a comfort to me, not demanding at all. And as for her predicaments, as you say, we managed to to find outselves in several when we worked together." He made a point of elevating Sam's role in his work when he commented, giving her job more weight than actually called for but her parent's attitude toward Sam irritated him.

"Yes, I imagine… " was the other man's reply. "How's that Sergeant of yours… Miller. Was it?"

"Milner, " Sam jumped in. "He's actually a Detective Inspector now in Brighton. And he and his wife have a daughter."

"I was impressed with his intelligence and his loyalty when I met him."

"Who is that, dear?" Mrs. Stewart asked blankly. Sam frowned but her father brushed past it, "Milner. He worked with Christopher and Samantha."

"Yes Mother. He was wounded in Norway early in the war but Chrisopher encouraged him to go back to police work. He was Christopher's sergeant until the end of the war."

Encouraged him? Why should he need encouragement?" Foyle was beginning to wonder how someone as bright and able as Sam could have come from the woman.

"Because Mother," Sam started, her frustration rising, "he lost part of his leg and was having difficulty when Christopher learned he was in hospital. "

"Oh dear. And you say you worked with this man?" She turned to Iain looking scandalized. "You didn't tell me Samantha was spending her days with such people."

"It's alright dear," Iain soothed. "I met the man. Really very nice fellow. And I could see both he and Christopher had taken our Samantha under their wings and were protecting her."

"But he couldn't protect her," the woman whined. "He… he is a cripple."

"A very capable one," Christopher said darkly. "Milner proved himself up to the task on more than one occasion."

"Right," Sam declared. "And he is my friend, Mother. Really! He lost part of his leg, not his senses. Paul Milner is very dependable and …. And…" Chrisopher could see her ire rising and intevened. "He's an honorable man. I never had any worries about him where Sam was concerned." His chin dipped as he recalled how upset he'd been when he heard that Sam had stayed at Milner's after she'd been bombed out. Thankfully it was short lived as the first Mrs. Milner returned home unexpectedly. But the jealousy that had ripped through Christopher upon hearing about it was his first indication of just what his true feelings were for her. _No worries indeed… between that incident and that night Andrew spent at her flat I was nearly undone._

"But she isn't your daughter, Christopher," Mrs. Stewart said tremorously.

"Nnno… bbut she is my wife and…"

"You mean to say you had feelings for even then?" The woman was working herself into a state.

"Nnot…. Wull, possibly. Only became aware of them later. And they grew, of course."

Iain looked aghast while his wife looked as if she might faint. "But you did not act on them?" the other man asked, seeking reassurance.

"Nup. And had no intention to until Sam … wull, she pulled it out of me, I s'pose." He turned and looked at Sam fondly, calmed by the shining admiration that was being reflected back at him. The discomfort of her parents with their shared gaze was not lost on either Foyle.

Later that evening after they'd finsihed supper, Sam offered to do the cleaning up and Christopher joined her in the task. "I'm beginning to understand why you were so worried about sharing our news with them," he said softly as he dried the dishes she washed. "We'll leave it for tonight. I think you're mother has had all the revelations she can manage for one day. Perhaps tomorrow after breakfast. It will give them the whole day to digest it all."

Sam smiled at him as she handed him the last plate to be dried. "I do love you, you know… ever so much."

"Mmmm, counting on it," he replied dryly as he set the plate down on the table and took his wife in his arms for a kiss.

* * *

Just want to take a moment to thank all who continue to read and especially those who take the time to leave a comment or two. Your comments are much appreciated and often cause me to rethink things.


	37. Chapter 37

I'm having far too much fun poking fun at Sam's parents, although I do know there were some of that generation who might have reacted just as the Stewarts do here. It was mentioned in the reviews that we really don't know much about Sam's parents. We met her father once and he seemed to be a bit of a dull stick in the mud, except when helping Milner with the art piece. There I think we get to see a little of his intelligence and a bit of Sam's spirit. Sam's mother only gets mentions but it seems she is frail, if not in body then certainly in spirit. Sam seems to get most of her personality from her Uncle Aubrey, thank goodness. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. As always, reviews and comments are much appreciated!

* * *

The next morning was not any more comfortable for the Foyles. They'd been caught in a rather passionate embrace over the clean dishes the night before by Mrs. Stewart, sending her into a flutter. The look from the Reverend Stewart over breakfast told Christopher that the woman had informed her husband of the apparently untoward activities in their kitchen. The older man was looking him as if he'd committed a great crime, _must be the eye Sam spoke of…_

Sam hardly looked up from her plate, afraid a glance at her mother would send the poor woman into another tizzy and even more fearful of 'the eye' from her father. She did glance Christopher's way a time or two, who did his very best to remain neutral even though he was caught between wanting to give the Stewarts an earful and bursting into laughter. It really would be humorous if it wasn't causing Sam so much agony.

Finally the meal was finished and Sam offered to help her mother clean up. Christopher stood to offer his help as well, but a stern look from his father-in-law froze him in place. Apparently the man wanted a word with him. _Well, might as well get it over with,_ Christopher thought.

The men went into Iain Stewart's study. "Take a seat," the older man instructed in a tone Christopher recognized from his days of interrogating witnesses, or worse the criminals themselves. But he did as he was told, his temper slowly raising a notch. The humor of the situation was eroding in his mind. Stewart sat at his desk. His seat of power, Christopher reflected.

"My wife informed me of your behavior in the kitchen last night, Christopher." The man paused, letting his unspoken admonishment sink in. Except it wasn't sinking in with Christopher. Instead of feeling chastised, his temper rose.

"Oh, and what behavior is that Iain?" He deliberately used the man's given name and used a pointed inflection as a way of warning that the older man should tread lightly.

"Your… manhandling of my daughter." The tone now dripped with repulsion.

Christopher leaned back in his seat, careful to keep an expression of nonchalance in his face. "If what you mean by manhandling is that I embraced _my_ wife and kissed her to show my unfailing devotion, then I am unsure where the problem is."

"We're just unused to such… such open displays in our home," the clergyman shot back.

"Open displays? We were alone until your wife walked in. And surely, you and she have engaged in similar activities from time to time. I can assure you that Sam has my respect and admiration and I would never do anything to sully her reputation. But I will not refrain from showing her my regard when in private."

"But… you weren't in private; you were in my kitchen."

Christopher's eyes narrowed. The man was determined to see the worst of the situation and could not be contented that his daughter had found happiness with someone who cared deeply for her. Standing, Christopher looked across at his father-in-law. "Yes, we were in your kitchen. Alone. And now, I think I will ask my wife to show me around the village, _alone_."

The ladies were just finishing when Christopher strode into the kitchen. Smiling at his wife, he suggested a walk through the village, which she agreed to quickly, far too quickly.

Once they were out of sight of the vicarage, Sam linked her arm through Christopher's and leaned into him slightly. "Mother was just horrible," she said sadly. "She said I disgraced her and Father by carrying on with you last night in the kitchen."

"Mmm, your father gave me a similar lecture."

"Honestly, I thought after the way they were at the wedding that perhaps finally they were seeing me as my own person, an adult. I hoped… well, it doesn't matter what I hoped for, does it? I'll always be a child that needs protecting in their eyes."

"Understandable. At times, I feel the same about Andrew. "

"Right. But you don't treat him like a child," she said angrily.

"Nup, not unless he is acting like one." Then Christopher stopped and turned to look at her fully. "Sam, I am sorry. I thought you were underestimating your parents and their ability to see you as a grown, married woman. But it seems you were entirely correct. I should have given you more credit for knowing your own parents."

Sam smiled at him, a warm beautiful smile that lightened his heart. "Kiss me."

"Whut?" he asked as he glanced around them.

"You heard me, Christopher Foyle. "Kiss me."

"But we're…"

"I know. Kiss me anyway."

A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Christopher looked down momentarily. "Wull, if you insist."

"I do," she replied brightly. So he did. Christopher Foyle kissed Samantha Foyle, nee Stewart, soundly in the middle of the main road through the village, not 500 yards from the church.

Once the kiss ended, Sam took his arm again and they resumed their stroll. "That'll give Father and Mother something to really get worked up over long after we've returned home," she said smugly. "The villagers will wag their tongues for weeks over it." Her husband's mouth slid down into his inverted smile as he matched her pace along the road. "Mmm, certainly will."

Their walk lasted almost an hour and by the time they returned to the Stewart cottage, everyone seemed calmer although Christopher noticed a new coolness towards him from Iain. Well, if that was the way it was to be, he thought he could tolerate it for Sam's sake. Could be worse.

It wasn't until after lunch that Christopher decided the whole situation was becoming ridiculous and he and Sam should share their news, let the Stewarts react however they might, and be off in the morning for home. With all of them sitting together again in the front room, idly chatting about the changes since the end of the war and the continued rationing, Christopher gave his wife a meaningful look. Her eyes went wide and then she ducked her chin, silently acknowledging both that it was time and that she didn't have the courage for it. Naturally, Christopher took the lead.

"While we are enjoying the chance to visit with you, Sam and I chose to come now because we've some news we thought you might like to hear."

Both parents looked alarmed. Christopher could see Mrs. Stewart already winding herself up for a full on spell of nerves. The Reverend simply looked wary. "News? I hope you haven't taken a job and are moving farther away?"

"No, no we're not moving anywhere. I did have an offer in London but turned it down. Didn't think Sam or I would be very happy there for the long term. No, our news is a bit more …"

"I'm pregnant," Sam suddenly blurted. Christopher looked across to see her sitting rigidly upright in her chair, staring straight ahead, afraid to look at anyone.

"Pregnant? Oh my…" Mrs. Stewart simpered.

Iain cleared his throat. "No need to be quite so abrupt, Samantha."

"Oh… sorry," Sam said as she tucked her head again in shame. That was the last straw for Christopher. "Surely you can understand, Iain, that Sam is excited to be expecting but also somewhat nervous as to your reaction, yours and her mother's? You haven't ermm… exactly been supportive of her since we arrived and…"

"I resent that, Christopher. We've always been very supportive. "

"Beg pardon, Iain, but that's not the way I see it or what Sam has felt. And now she's expecting your first grandchild and as you can imagine, she's been quite worried about telling you. I tried to assure her that you would be happy at the news but since we've arrived, I've reevaluated that opinion."

"But why?" Mrs. Stewart asked quietly. "She knows I've looked forward to grandchildren."

"Because, Mrs. Stewart, while you may have looked forward to grandchildren, you … neither of you….seem to have much tolerance for what gets you those grandchildren."

Mrs. Stewart began to flutter again, gasping at breaths and fanning herself. "Oh my…"

Iain was beside her immediately. "Now dear, no need to upset yourself. We have known that they are married and consequently our Samantha was no longer….chaste. Please try to breathe." His words were gentle enough but the look he gave Christopher was murderous.

Christopher looked over at Sam, who seemed shaken as well. "You alright?" he asked softly. A quick nod of her head assured him she was, so he returned his attention to the Stewarts. Finally she calmed down and Iain sat back in his chair, still giving Christopher accusatory glances.

"Ho… how far along are you, Samantha," her mother asked meekly.

"About three months now, well actually a little more… really."

Christopher watched as her mother did the math inside her head. "Oh that means… oh my…you really do have a robust marriage then. It took your father and I years to… " Suddenly she clamped her mouth shut and looked guiltily at her husband.

Iain was rigid but didn't look angry. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Christopher. "I suppose we assumed that … well, you are older, Christopher. We thought it might be a marriage of convenience and not necessarily love and consequently less physical than if you were more Samantha's age."

At that Sam giggled. It wasn't a quiet giggle either, but a full, lively one. Three sets of eyes looked at her in perplexity, her husband's perhaps the most perplexed of all. "I'm sorry," she said as she continued to giggle. "It's just that…. Older or not, Christopher isn't ready for the pasture just yet. _Not at all_."

His faced flushed red, Christopher endured the startled stares of his in-laws. "Erm… no," he finally choked out, trying not to let Sam's laughter cause his own.

It took a few moments for Sam to get over her giggles, the Stewarts get over their shock, and Christopher to tamp down his embarrassment. Finally, it was Iain that smiled. "Well, this calls for a celebration. I don't often indulge but shall we all have a small bit of cheer celebrate your good news?"

Christopher thought that while a small bit would be welcome, he needed more than just a bit. It would have to suffice, he supposed as he accepted Iain's offer of a sherry. Feeling that Sam's parents had been won over, he decided to add to the celebration. "Wull, in observance of the occasion, won't you let me take us all out tonight, for dinner?" His suggestion was met with approval and the conversation eased back into a more comfortable state. The topics this time were more close to home, however, as the women talked of baby things and Iain launched into a homily about the joys of fatherhood with Christopher.

Christopher and Sam did return to Hastings the next day, far more relaxed than they'd felt when they left two days before and both vowing it would be a long while until the trip was repeated.


	38. Chapter 38

Thank you all for reading and especially to those who take the time to review! Just in case you were wondering, I own nothing about Foyle's War but I do so like to play with the characters, especially DCS Foyle himself.

Early on it was suggested that there would be many pitfalls for a couple with such a large age difference as Christopher and Sam. Later, it was suggested that Sam getting her feelings hurt and Christopher petting over her and trying to soothe her was becoming redundant. But I do think when we are younger our feelings get hurt so much more than they do as we grow more mature and we learn not to take on the negative emotions of the people around us quite so much. Sam would be at an age where her own feelings would guide her first responses to events, where Christopher's age helps him step back from his emotions slightly to consider what is happening with others more in depth. Plus, I think that's just who he is, more of an observer most of the time. But Sam would be wholly in the middle of things and tend to react more emotionally. So that's why I keep writing about little skirmishes that are largely due to Sam's hurt feelings. In this story, Sam has yet to really pause and consider all the changes that are happening for Christopher, what all he is taking on, and how it must be effecting him. So that's why at times it might feel a bit repetitive.

And so...

* * *

The following week, Foyle accompanied Sam to her scheduled appointment with J.J. Josephson. Christopher wasn't overly worried about the pregnancy but visiting the doctor again for that reason did bring up memories of Rosalind. She had been very happy and excited about Andrew and had hoped so much for siblings to follow, but sadly it never quite happened. Christopher had been content with their small family but he knew Rosalind always regretted not having more children. As things happened though, he thought it was probably best that more babies hadn't come. He's struggled enough with trying to raise Andrew. Although he supposed Andrew might have had a better time of it after his mother's death if there had been siblings.

Sam was also excited about this baby, he knew. At first, she had been afraid but he'd seen a change over the fortnight. She was talking more about doing over Andrew's old room and where they might find some of the baby things given the scarcity of some items these days. Christopher supposed that was due not only to the continued rationing of some materials but also that so many of the recently demobbed soldiers and their wives were eager to get on with life and start their families. Sam had spoken with a few of the young mothers at church for ideas and one or two had offered to lend a few things to Sam to help her through the first days and months of motherhood. To Christopher, it was a sign that she was finally beginning to believe that this pregnancy would not be a repeat of her last one.

He was thinking all these things as he sat in the outer room of J.J's offices. But he was shaken from his thoughts when the door to the examining room opened and J.J. bade him inside. Sam was sitting in a chair at the doctor's desk and as J.J. settled in his chair behind it, Christopher took the chair next to Sam, feeling a little cautious after seeing her expression. She looked worried and she refused to look at him.

"Samantha is full of surprises, it seems," J.J. said once he was in his chair.

"Always has been," Christopher countered. He glanced over at Sam but her head was dipped and she was staring at her hands in her lap. _Not a good sign…._ But J.J's tone had been light, so Christopher tried to match his mood. "Ermm… what surprise do you two have for me now?"

The doctor smiled broadly. "Oh, it's a dilly," he chuckled. "Seems your wife is even more ingenious than either of us suspected. Seems she's managed to create two little Foyles, although I'm not so certain the world is quite ready for such an occurrence," he chortled.

Christopher's eyes widened as his brow rose almost to his hairline. And then he blinked slowly as he literally swallowed the news. His mouth was dry as he opened it to respond but it took a minute for his brain to find words. "Eh…erm… Ttwins?"

"Spot on, Christopher. In a few months you'll have two babbling babies underfoot."

Another blink, and another as the shock slowly faded and the reality began to settle in. Two babies. Two more mouths to feed. More work for Sam… and him. He'd need to be more helpful. Two… twins… Two little Christophers … or Sams… or better, a mixture of both… two. Another deep swallow. And then he dared look at his wife. He knew now why she'd been so uncomfortable when he entered the room, so worried. And he knew he needed to take that discomfort away. He took a deep breath to give him time to clarify what he would say. It mattered, it mattered greatly how he responded to the news.

"Wull, erm… that's a bit to take in," he finally managed. "Bbut, couldn't feel more honored."

Sam shot him a confused glance. "Honored?" she whispered.

"Yes. Honored. Having more children at my age feels like a privilege and having twins… wull… double the pleasure, don't you think Sam?" He let a smile tug the corners of his mouth down, hoping it would give her encouragement.

The answering quirk of her own mouth told him it was the right tactic. "You don't mind? Really?" There was hope in her eyes as she finally looked at him fully.

"Taken aback a little, I think. But nno, don't mind at'll. Like I said, honored. One of your very best surprises, love."

That did the trick. A broad, beautiful smile broke onto her face as her eyes danced. But then a cloud passed over her expression. "Sam?" He called her name as he watched the cloud.

She frowned and bit her lower lip as she pondered her dark thought. "We don't have to go back to my parent's to tell them, do we? I could just write a letter, don't you think?"

Christopher's chuckle was rare but genuine as his response. "Letter would do nicely, I think," was his only reply to that notion.

Public displays of affection were unusual for the Foyles but on that day, they walked back to Steep Lane with Sam's arm through his until the last hill, where he disentangled his arm from hers to take her hand in his. A block from the house he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. And on the top step of the house, he leaned into her for a small kiss before opening the door. Once inside, he paused in the entryway, keeping her captive in the small space. Leaning into her again, this time his body tantalizingly close to hers, he kissed her once more with more feeling. The straightening up, his eyes sparkling, he smirked. "Thought I'd best get that in before our two mischief makers get in the way," he teased.

Sam smiled. "Mischief makers?"

"Wull, they are _our_ children, aren't they?"

She gifted him another bright smile. "Yes, they are; though I never realized that their father was so full of mischief until recently."

"Mmmm, tried to keep it hidden. Didn't want to be too irresistible."

"I'm sorry, my darling; but you failed that task from the very beginning."

"Mmmm, 'parently so." Standing there, smiling like a fool, he knew he was losing himself in her eyes. _Not an unusual occurrence these days_ , he thought. He also thought perhaps they'd had enough excitement for one day, or at least the afternoon, so he changed gears. "Shall we celebrate with some tea?"

Christopher tried hard to hide his worry over the finances involved with two more mouths to feed and most times he believed he succeeded. But just how clearly his wife was able to read him became very clear one afternoon about three weeks after their surprising news. Sam cornered him over tea and asked what was worrying him so much. Was it the strain twins might put on their small household? Or was it just too much for him, the idea of so much upheaval after years of a relatively quiet life?

"Wull, if I'd been worried about mayhem, I'd never have asked you to marry me," he'd shot back at her. He spoke more harshly than he intended and he saw her look of hurt as his arrow hit squarely on the mark, which only made his already contrary mood worse. Sam had escaped his presence, first by busying herself in the kitchen and then by leaving altogether declaring she needed some air.

So now Christopher sat morosely in his chair in the front room, an early Scotch in hand, staring darkly at the door to the room, willing her to come through it. And his mood only worsened as the clock ticked off the minutes.

His bad mood began to change to worry as the sky grew darker outside and nightfall was threatening and she still hadn't returned. _Where could she be?_ The question became a mantra as twilight turned to darkness. He considered going out to look for her but hadn't the slightest idea of where to look, so he stayed rooted in his chair until his worry propelled him out of it to pace the floor. Another half hour of worry passed and it was changing to fear. Perhaps she was at the pub, he thought. Grabbing his coat and hat, he bounded out of the door, feeling some small bit of relief mixing with his fear because finally he was doing something.

His heart plummeted when he stepped into the pub and saw no sign of her. _Now what?_ Christopher was truly in the grips of fear, almost panic, as he stepped back onto the pavement. He walked around the corner and turned onto the high street, peering in every window hoping to sight her. Descending some steps, he turned toward one of the cafes that he knew she enjoyed. But she wasn't there either.

Circling back around, he decided to head back up Swan Terrace and then home to see if she had returned. As he passed the old graveyard, something drew him to Rosalind's grave and using the torch he'd brought along with him, he wound his way through the headstones to hers. And there he found Sam on a bench under a nearby tree curled into a ball, asleep.

"Sam," he said gently as he approached her. When she didn't awaken, he knelt beside her and touched her shoulder tenderly. "Wake up Love, you must be freezing."

Slowly she began to stir and her eyes fluttered open. "Christopher?" She looked around and her eyes grew large as she realized what had happened. He noted that those eyes were red and her cheeks tear stained. "It's me, Love. I've been searching for you. Why are you here?"

"I…." she sat up, tears glistening at her eyes. "I thought Rosalind might help me."

"Rosalind?" Christopher was surprised.

"Yes, sometimes I come here and talk with her when… when I don't understand you."

He slipped off his coat and put it around her when he saw her start to shiver. "Ddon't understand me?" he asked as he sat on the bench next to her.

"This afternoon. You were so… well, angry almost. And I don't understand why. Have I done something?"

Christopher took a deep breath and then put his arm around her, drawing her closer to him. "No. It was entirely me. You know I've worried about finding work and I have made several inquiries but I've yet to have any good results. This afternoon, wull, I s'pose that was my worry speaking."

"I thought, the way you spoke … you don't regret… " A small sob pierced the darkness that surrounded them.

Christopher closed his eyes in agony as her words sent a chill through him. "Regret? Not at all," he said as he squeezed her tightly against him again. "Bit overwhelmed at times by it all, but nno, never regret. How could I regret having such happiness in my life again, Sam? All those years of feeling as cold as Rosalind's stone over there… No love, no remorse whatsoever." After a moment, he leaned down to try to glimpse her face but it was too dark to make out much of anything. "Let's go home, Sam. Get you warmed up? We can talk there, if you want." Sam nodded and they stood together, Christopher's arm still firmly around her as they walked back to Steep Lane, Christopher chastising himself the entire way for causing her such sorrow.

The talk didn't come that night. Once they were safely at home, Christopher went to prepare something for Sam to eat after sending her upstairs for a warm bath. He wasn't particularly hungry, guilt over his behavior taking away his appetite. But he knew Sam would be starving and it was his responsibility after all, to look after her and their two children. His grimace at the thought turned to a soft smile as he put the kettle on for tea. Good thing he'd managed to stay in good health as he would certainly be challenged to keep up with his growing family in the next few years.

Supper was quiet. It was obvious to Christopher that Sam was knackered. And truth be told, the emotions of the day had him thinking an early evening might benefit him as well. Consequently after cleaning the dishes and then listening to a short radio program, he suggested they retire. Both climbed into bed with a book in hand. He propped himself against the headboard and Sam settled against him, her book propped against her raised knees. After a gentle kiss to her neck, Christopher opened his book to read. Content in each other's company, both Foyles relaxed and within the half hour the lights were turned off and they were snuggled together as sleep settled over the house.


	39. Chapter 39

Hello again! I hope everyone is still here and enjoying the story. I had a little fun in this one and most of you will get it, I think. I've referenced another one of Michael Kitchen's more interesting characters. We'll see how Christopher takes to him. Anyway, I thank all of you who have stuck with this. It is turning into a much longer story than I'd originally envisioned.

* * *

Christopher woke the next morning but remained in bed, watching his wife sleep. His eyes meandered from her blonde tresses to her face, so peaceful in sleep. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed and then followed her form downward. Although hidden under the linens, he could imagine the small little bump that would soon be showing in her abdomen. Twins… he still was having difficulty digesting that one. But as he lay there, contemplating his wife, Christopher realized he really was happy about it. Oh, it wasn't the excited happiness Sam exuded. No, it was quieter, felt more inwardly. But it was there nonetheless and he needed to let Sam see it.

He thought back to when he was her age. Just home from the first war, he was adjusting to the new world they all found themselves in, much as her generation was making adjustments now... her generation, hers and Andrew's; not his. Not willing to let his mind linger there too long, he thought back to himself at her age. He supposed he'd been a bit less reticent then, more able to express what he felt, even when it wasn't entirely appropriate. It was when he'd met Rosalind; she'd been younger too, although not so much younger, a mere nearly ten years younger.

In some ways Sam reminded him of Rosalind, her liveliness and enthusiasm… and innocence. Both women had lived through a world war and yet both retained some measure of innocence. Christopher smiled as he thought about that. It was one of the things he loved about Sam, her innocence even in the face of so much iniquity.

She began to stir, her arms stretching and her legs twitching. She squirmed under the covers and then her eyes opened. After a moment, her gaze turned toward him and she smiled. And in the glow of her smile, Christopher felt young again, or at least younger. "Morning Love," he said softly and was rewarded with a soft mew from her. "Good morning," she whispered back as if she were telling some great secret.

Suddenly her expression changed and she threw back the covers and padded off to the water closet. Returning a few minutes later Sam grumbled under her breath about the pressure on her bladder. "Alright now, love?" he asked as he pulled back the covers inviting her back to bed.

"Your babies seem to enjoy sending me to the water closet" she replied, amusement playing in her face.

Christopher's lips turned southward into one of his patented smiles. " _My_ babies?" he teased back. "Seems I had some help with that, Mrs. Foyle."

He was rewarded with a radiant smile. "I know it is silly but I still love hearing that," she told him.

"Whut? That I had help?" He leaned closer, his eyes twinkling.

"Mrs. Foyle," she said tenderly.

"Mmmm, mme too," he answered just before his lips touched hers. In the course of worshipping his wife that morning, Christopher's hand settled over her tummy, taking stock of the bump that was indeed making its presence known. "Jolly good thing you have the moniker too, Mrs. Foyle. The little Foyles will be making their presence known to the world before long." His lips pulled into a perplexed downward smirk as he contemplated his use of the word jolly. _Sam's influence_ , he mused.

"Really?" She asked as her hand went to explore his findings. "I so dreaded showing when I was pregnant…before. But now, I think I'm quite excited." Of course, Christopher was quite excited by then as well; only his excitement was taking another form, which he demonstrated thoroughly in a manner that turned her attention away from the little Foyles growing in her tummy and toward the rather larger Foyle that was growing next to her, the sole intention being to join the little ones inside. Consequently, no one stirred downstairs until nearly noon which was normally unheard of in the house on Steep Lane.

As Sam eventually dressed, Christopher watched with amusement as she stood in front of the mirror running her hands over her tummy and admiring the small bump that was reflected back at her. His amusement turned to contentment though as he watched the expression of her face change from curiosity to delight.

A few hours later her expression was more one of consternation when she returned from a trip to the shops. "Your rations, my rations, and my ones for being pregnant and I still can't find anything in the bloody shops!" Sam put her one half empty bag down on the kitchen table and collapsed into a chair.

"Nothing?" Foyle asked, mildly surprised.

"A few vegetables, potatoes of course, and Spam. I am so …"

"Is alright, love. Remember, there are two nice sized trout in the ice box," he said as he tried to contain his amusement.

She perked up. "Oh, right. Thank goodness you enjoy fishing."

"Mmmm, glad to be of service" he replied, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, some might say you've been a bit too willing to be of service," she teased back.

"Oh, who might that be?" Christopher recognized that somewhere in her teasing barb there was some frustration.

"I had a letter from Mother yesterday."

"Yes I saw it in the post," he replied. "Nnot a happy letter?"

"Not unhappy exactly. She just can't seem to understand how I am going to have twins. And I'm afraid she puts all the blame on you."

"Wull, did have a hand in it so to speak…"

Sam looked up at him and smiled. "It wasn't your hand that caused the trouble, was it?" she jabbed.

"Nnooo s'pose it wasn't. Still nnot innocent in getting you with twins. But not something either of us planned. She can't understand that? Surely…"

"She seems insistent that twins run in families and _ours_ doesn't have any twins that anyone can remember. So she thinks it must be something from the Foyle side."

"Mmmm, wull… can't recall my parents mentioning any twins. And since I'm the only son of an only son, can't really claim much in the way of children at all."

"What abut your mother's side?"

"Sshe had a brother who died young. I believe her grandmother had several brothers and a sister. Other than that, seems all the family I ever heard about came in ones and twos and some years apart." Christopher paused a moment. "I have heard about twins running in families; heard it happens every other generation or so. Bbut I've heard of twins in families with no history of it too."

"Well, Mother is just going to have to get used to the idea, just as we are."

"Uused to it, Sam. Just not sure I'm ready for it."

She looked at him startled. "You're still worried?"

"Wull, bit perhaps. But really was just thinking about everything being double. Ttwo feedings at night two babies crying, two little ones on my knee… Not bad thoughts, just… bit overpowering at times?"

Yes for me too. But I am ever so excited. Please tell me you're happy about it too."

"Oh darling Sam, I'd be a fool to be anything but happy, long as you're here with me. We'll manage. Besides , not like you to take things in half measures, now is it?" Christopher thought that the expression that came over her could eclipse the sun.

It was nearly three weeks later when the morning post contained a letter that caught Christopher's attention. He read it through once, disbelief gnawing at him. But as he read it through the second time, he realized it was legitimate. A smile crept into his features as settled back in his chair and the weight of his monetary concerns lifted. A job, work… income; an answer to a prayer.

Then remembering how hurt Sam had been by his reticence a few weeks ago, he sprang from his chair to go in search of her. She would be relieved as well.

"Sam? He called from the door to the garden. She had been busy the last two weeks trying to reclaim a portion of it to use as a vegetable patch and clearly her efforts were successful, as he could see small sprouts of various varieties in the dirt. As she looked up from her work, he was reminded of her work with the land girls several years prior. They'd planted potatoes. Christopher knew Sam had ambitions toward more green vegetables now. "Sam," he said again as he approached her, grinning like a Cheshire cat, not only because of his news but because of the smears of dirt across her face. "You look like a little urchin," he teased as he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the smudges.

"Sorry," she chirped, her own smile matching his. "You were looking for me?"

"Erm, yes; I have news, good news," he said as he held up the letter. She reached for it but upon seeing her hands thought better of it and smiled at him again. "Perhaps you should just tell me about it."

"I've been offered a job."

"Really? Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so very pleased for you. I know it has been worrying you and now it needn't." Her smile dissolved into a bit of a frown. "But what sort of job is it? Not in London, I hope?"

"No, not at all. Here in Hasting, or all of Sussex really. The letter is from a barrister, Steven Vey. He handles a variety of cases and has a reputation in civil settlements. He knows of me because he defended several of the criminals I arrested over the years. "

"So what would be your role then? He doesn't need you to prove his clients guilty?"

"Nno, needs an investigator. Needs someone to gather all the facts of a case., review them, check for weaknesses in the other side's case

"But won't that put you on the wrong side? I mean, you'll help him defend the criminals, keep them out of prison."

"Wull, the police don't always have it right. Besides, as I said, he's known for his civil cases, getting good settlements for people who have been treated wrongfully by others but their situations fall outside criminal justice. Mmight be helping justice in a different manner."

"Oh I see. Well then, that is marvelous news. And you can work right here in Hastings. Oh, and I can drive for you, so you can think" she said with a gleam in her eyes. "It'll be just like…"

"Sam, no." Christopher felt like a cad trying to curb her enthusiasm. "Might not be outright criminals I'll be dealing with, but some are still very unsavory. Don't want you near them. Besides, it could only be for a few months. You'll be quite busy with the twins after that." Watching her face fall sent a shot of pain through Christopher's chest. After a moment's thought, he said softly, " Could help me go over it at night though. Lend a woman's ear to it all?"

While her response wasn't entirely happy, he did see a spark there. "Oh yes, I could, couldn't I. It's just… I was thinking of that day when I was in hospital; that day you told me you couldn't go anywhere without me. Seems that's not so anymore."

"I was in love with you then, you know. But I thought all you'd ever be was my driver, Sam. But now, you are so much more. I may be able to drive myself but… can't breathe without you, love. You are that vital to me. I'll give you many things to doubt about me, I'm certain; but please never doubt that. "

"I don't. Not really. But I do worry about this job, whether it is right for you."

"Wull, if it isn't, I can always resign. I'm sure there will plenty of things I could do here, washing nappies perhaps?"

Sam chuckled. "You'll be doing those things regardless, I'm afraid. With two babies to care for, I'll need you help."

"And you shall have it, love; because I know that whatever job I might have during the day, the greater work is being done here."

I'm a very lucky woman, you know."

Oh?"

"Not many wives have husbands who would think such a thing."

"Ah, perhaps. But I know what a treasure I have in you, Sam. And one should take care of his treasure."


	40. Chapter 40

So sorry I have been away from this for so long. I have no excuse except life happens. I'll try to do better, I promise. DOn't know about the rest of you, but I sure do miss FW and Foyle in particular. But alas, life goes on I suppose. Hope you like it. There will be more, sometime.

* * *

Christopher slipped into the back of the courtroom to watch his new employer at work. He'd been at the job just over a fortnight and had been tasked with investigating the witnesses in his employer's current case. One of the witnesses was scheduled to testify that day and Mr. Vey wanted all the facts of the poor man's life. In reality, there was little to find. The man, one Gerry Thorne, had worked most of his life as a mechanic at the old garage down the road from old nick. Sam had actually taken the Wolseley to him a time or two. Thorne had been married but lost his wife and their daughter in one of the first bombings of the war. His son followed his mother in death at Dunkirk. And since then, the old man had been on his own. He'd retired the previous year and now spent his days repairing old toys, making them almost new for the children of his neighbors. There was little to note in the man's life, save for a rather handsome deposit into his bank account just a few days after the robbery and murder of a nearby shopkeeper. While Christopher had made all the facts he had collected known to Vey on the previous day, he'd also uncovered one more bit of information that morning, the source of the funds that had been deposited into the man's account.

Vey glanced up from his table in the courtroom and with a subtle nod, acknowledged that Foyle was there and needed to speak with him. Another few minutes and the barrister was able to take advantage of a break as a new witness was called from the hall outside. Christopher approached his employer and handed him a note. "You'll want this before you question Thorne," Christopher said before slipping back into anonymity at the back.

Vey looked down, read the note, and then glanced sharply at Foyle. He blinked and then his eyes widened as if seeking confirmation. Foyle gave him the slightest of nods and grimaced. He knew Vey's questioning depended on the assumption that Thorne had been paid to send the investigation in his client's direction. Christopher's note had just blown a rather large hole in that assumption. He could see that Vey was mentally scrambling to understand where to take the questioning of Mr. Thorne. But for the moment, his attention settled on the witness just entering the box.

Sam heard Christopher come through the front as she was finishing her tea. She heard the shuffling as he hung his hat and coat in the entry and turned to smile as he walked through to the lounge. Her smile was short lived, however, as she took in his expression. "What's happened?" she asked.

Christopher took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, something she had rarely seen from him and only when he was seething with anger. "Vey happened."

"What?" Sam was dumbfounded. There was such disgust in his face and voice that it sent a chill through her.

"He… erm…. " Christopher rubbed his forehead tiredly with his right hand, gave his shoulders a bit of a shrug, and collapsed into his favorite chair. Another sigh seemed to give him what he needed to continue. "He'd made an assumption about a witness that was false. It seemed to hold water until I found new information this morning. Wwent to court to give him the bit of news and he …." Christopher paused, his eyes staring off into nothingness.

Sam left her chair and moved close to him, kneeling in front of him. "He what, Christopher? You have always been so thorough. How did this information just surface this morning? And what did Mr. Vey do?"

"He ignored it, at least for the questioning. I was thorough and I had told him yesterday that we still didn't have the information on the source of the funds. But he was so bloody sure that he knew the answer, he planned his whole strategy around it. The information I brought this morning should have changed his line of questioning but it didn't. And in the process, he nearly destroyed the witness when there was no reason to do so. The man has nothing left, Sam. He's lost his family and has little to his name, but he did have a good reputation and was well liked in his community. Now he won't be trusted and it is all because Stephen Vey needed to win his case."

"Wait, I don't understand…. What funds? What are we talking about?"

"Do remember the mechanic at the garage…. Thorne?"

"Yes, he repaired the car…. Oh, he was the witness?" she said, wide eyed.

"He was. Since he retired, he's spent his time and what little money he has to spare repairing old toys for the neighborhood children, as well as doing some odd jobs for the widows near him. He saw the defendant running from Smither's Shop and told the police. Naturally, he was questioned and was to be called as a witness. A few days later, a significant sum of money was deposited into his bank account. Vey assumed he'd been paid to point the finger at our client. The information I received this morning revealed the true source of the funds. Seems he has an American cousin who sent the funds to him, wired them to his account. Thorne is to use the funds to help those who are still struggling, lost their homes in the bombings or the soldiers who are struggling to find jobs. The cousin, also named Thorne, is apparently well off and wanted to help the neighborhood from where his parents had come. Seems the neighbors had made a collection to purchase tickets for them to sail to America once they were married. That was before the first war. Family has done well in America and this cousin wanted to repay the debt."

"Golly."

"Yes, golly. All very innocent and philanthropic. But Vey accused Thorne of taking a payment for false testimony and painted quite an ugly picture. Put the poor man in tears and once Vey was done with him, the poor soul left the courtroom in shame."

"Oh Christopher ... what can we do?"

"There isn't much we can do, Sam. Once the story gets out of Vey's accusations, the man's reputation will be in shreds. But I did one thing."

"What's that?"

"I resigned. Told Vey what he could do with his tactics. Said it in front of his assistant and the Prosecutor. Several people overheard, I'm sure. Not my usual tactic, but I felt he was deserving of at least that."

Sam bit her lower lip. "I'm glad you resigned. You're far too fine a man to be working for a…. a…. horrible man like that!"

A smile quirked at Foyle's lips. Sometimes, even after her years of driving for him from murder to murder and all the other things that had happened to her, there was such a sweet innocence to her that charmed him. "Wwon't be so glad when there's nothing in the larder," he replied with a teasing glint in his eye.

Not seeing his eyes, Sam looked aghast at him. But as she caught a glimpse, his eyes had a twinkle to them now and she recognized that he was teasing. "We'll make do, my darling man. And if it is a choice between making do and you working for a disreputable man like that, I'm fine with making do. You can keep us in fish and it isn't as if there is much in the shops anyway. Not as bad as during the war, but still not back to normal either. Although, I'm not sure any of us remember what normal was."

"Nnoo… s'pose not. Been a long time since we were last at peace. But slowly regaining ourselves, I think. Sstill worry about how I will support so many mouths to feed though, my love. "

"Oh Christopher, we'll be alright I'm sure. As long as we are together, we'll be fine. And another job might appear. After all, you are such a very clever man."

"Oh, don't know about that…. Although… Clever enough to marry you, so p'haps you are right. Still, so many men returning, younger men hunting for employment. Makes it more difficult for us older chaps."

Sam looked up at him coyly. "Don't you give me that older chaps…. Those younger men couldn't hold a candle to your shrewdness and when it comes to your other talents…" She fingered one of the buttons on his waistcoat as she let her voice fade.

"Other talents, love?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Isn't too difficult to put _those_ talents on display with such inspiration as you provide."

"Hmmm, perhaps…. "She looked up as a faint smile tugged at her mouth. "But how many are so talented that they can put their women in the pudding club twice in one go?"

Sam was rewarded with a chuckle from her man. "Samantha, you have the most…." He chuckled again. "Come here, love. Come warm my lap."

Smirking as she settled into his lap, Sam quipped, "Isn't that what got me into trouble in the first place?"

"Mmmmm, well worth the effort," Christopher mumbled as he began an assault on her neck.

The following weekend, Andrew landed on their doorstep. Christopher was at the river when his son arrived unannounced. Sam greeted him warmly and then chided him for not calling ahead. "I could have made your room for you," she told him. "I suppose now you can jolly well do it yourself."

Andrew, much more comfortable now in his own skin than he'd been for several years, merely laughed. "Oh come on, Sam; really?" Then looking around the sitting room he grinned. "Say, I like what you've done with the place."

"Haven't done much really," Sam replied. "I wanted fresh paint, actually new paper but your father didn't go for that. Hoped for new drapes and upholstery too but seems those items are still in short supply."

"Yes, but you've rearranged a bit." Then noticing the picture on the mantle, he walked over to look more closely. "This is marvelous, Sam. You and Dad look so very happy. Can't remember seeing such a large smile on his face since Mom…." He turned to look at her shamefully. "Sorry…"

"It's alright, Andrew. I know your father was very happy with your mother. And I'm glad for it. It would be foolish for me to resent something that happened long before we knew one another. Besides, I think his unhappiness after having known such fulfilment with her is what opened him to the idea of a life with me. "

"So you think he proposed to you because he missed her?" Andrew seemed aghast.

"No, not at all. But …. Well, of course he missed her, still does at times, I think. But what I meant is that he missed that contentment and…. warmth in his life. And well, I think it just snuck up on him, the feelings he developed for me. And once he realized what he felt, feels, he couldn't deny himself any longer. "

Andrew gave his head a shake and blinked at her. "Gosh Sam, you've given it a lot of thought."

"Had to be certain of his motives in wanting to marry me, Andrew. Pity isn't a very good foundation for a marriage."

"No, I suppose not. But things are going well? Dad wrote that you're expecting…"

"I am. Rather surprised at first and then…. Well, when we found out that I'm carrying twins…"

"Twins?" Andrew looked knocked for six.

"Yes, I'm not sure which of us was more shocked at the news. But I think I'm coming to terms with it. Not so sure about your father though."

"Oh?"

"He's worried about supporting us… all. "

"Should've thought of that before he….'erm… Right." His ears turned red as Andrew realized how close he'd come to stepping over the line. "Sorry."

"It's fine. And anyway, as I told him, as long as we are together it will be fine."

Andrew couldn't contain a smile in the face of her optimism. Then his head tilted, a different sort of grin working at the corner of his mouth. "Still, I shan't miss the opportunity to tease him a bit. He was awfully worried about keeping up with you, you know."

"Oh, he's kept up alright," she said as she patted her tummy, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she realized what she'd just said. Decided a change of subject was in order, she asked how long he would be staying.

"Just the weekend. I'll catch the late train back tomorrow. I just felt the need for some fresh sea air and caring faces. London is so …. I dunno, anonymous at times. And bleak. "

Sam was going to ask what that was about when the door opened and Christopher stepped through. He called out from the entry. "Fish were happy to cooperate with filling the larder today," he said as it registered with him that Sam was not alone. "Andrew!" he smiled broadly. "Good to see you son. Home for long?"."

Andrew grinned and stepped across the room to hug his father. "Only tonight, Dad. Have to go back tomorrow afternoon. But I was missing home, so here I am."

"Wull then, good thing the fish were so obliging then. Let me just get things put away and we'll have a drink," Christopher grinned as he held up his catch. As he disappeared to the kitchen, Andrew turned to Sam. "My god Sam, I haven't seen him that happy in years, forever it seems. I'd say it's all down to you."

"We make each other happy, Andrew. Isn't just one sided. I can't imagine my life unfolding in any other way."

Just then, Christopher's head popped around the corner of the door frame. "Want Andrew and I to pop 'round to the shops, love? Might need something to go with the fish."

"No darling, I have potatoes in the larder and Mrs. Mallow brought some beans from their garden."

"Right then. I'll just run up and change," the older Foyle said as he disappeared again.

Sam turned to Andrew. "Mrs. Mallow brought the beans to thank your father for helping her last week with her shed. Seemed her youngest boy managed to knock a corner out of it somehow and your father mended it for her."

"Those Mallow boys are always into some mischief," Andrew chuckled as he sat in his favorite chair, the one that Sam had claimed as her own in recent months. "So, tell me what else is happening in Hastings. You'd think that London would be so much more exciting but somehow I find the goings on in Hastings much more interesting."

Settling onto the divan, Sam began to fill him in on all the local gossip.


	41. Chapter 41

Gosh, I knew I woefully behind with this but only just now realized how bad. The muse seemed to desert me for awhile and now she's filling my brain with all my stories. I am trying to write my way back into this one and will endeavor to be better at keeping current. But it will depend on the muse. Of course, she loves to read your comments so if you'd like more soon, then feed the muse, haha.

* * *

Soon the senior Foyle was back downstairs. He stepped into the front room and allowed a small covert smile to work at the corners of his mouth as he heard the chatter going on between his wife and his son. Crossing to his chair, he settled in, willing to let their conversation wind down to the eventual end.

Andrew glanced over at him as he finished what he was saying about how many of the neighbors from his childhood were gone and new faces in their place. Christopher gave him a half smile and nod, letting him finish.

As he did, Sam turned to Christopher. "Fish are in the ice box?"

"Yes love, I'll sort them in a bit, if that's alright?"

"Of course. It sounds as if you caught quite a few."

"Three plump ones and two smaller. Enough for dinner tonight and perhaps lunch tomorrow, if that one over there," he said as he tilted his head toward Andrew, "doesn't consume them all tonight."

"Dad!" Andrew exclaimed in a somewhat whiny voice. "I don't each _th_ at much; well, not anymore anyway."

"No?" Foyle responded in a teasing tone, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"No." Andrew replied, trying to sound offended but the twinkle in his own eyes gave away his mood. "But speaking of hungry mouths, I understand you outdid yourself and not only is Sam pregnant, but with twins?"

Christopher's face darkened. "I'll not have you speaking like that, Andrew, not about me or about Sam. I'm not one of your chums and Sam is certainly not to be mocked."

Andrew looked at his father with a bit of shock in his expression. "No, of course not. It's just, well, …" he glanced at Sam to gauge her reaction. She was staring at his father with a slight frown. "Well, I suppose I knew there might be children but I wasn't expecting things to happen quite so soon and… well, not in multiples. I'm really happy for you both though; I really am."

Christopher chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before looking back at his son. "Right. Umm, sorry if I sounded harsh. Just… more being made of the fact that its twins than I'm comfortable with. Some people have commented out of turn and…"

"What?" Sam piped in with surprise. "What has been said? And by whom?"

Christopher waved his hand as if to dismiss it all but Sam was having none of it. "No, I want to know. I should know!"

Foyle glanced guiltily at Andrew as if to say he'd been the one to put his foot in it but Andrew simply shrugged. Glancing back at his wife, Christopher cleared his throat. "Erm, mmight've overheard something at church last week. And er, wull…. Met Hugh Reid at the pub for a pint and…"

"That doesn't sound like Mr. Reid, Dad," Andrew said.

"Doesn't it? Never misses a chance to needle me. But nno…. Not him. We were overheard talking about coming events though and old Mr. Patterson had a comment."

"Who's this Mr. Patterson?" Sam wanted to know.

"He erm…. Used to have a shop over on the high street before the war. Closed it in the early days. Spends more time than he should at the pub these days. His wife was killed in one of the first bombings and he's been on his own too much with nothing to do except put his bloody nose in places where it doesn't belong." Christopher seemed to get more agitated as he spoke.

"What did he say, Dad? Must've been awful for you to get this worked up."

Christopher glanced at Sam and then looked back at his son with pleading eyes. "Rather not say."

Andrew's eyes widened as he got his father's meaning. "Right."

"Well it isn't alright with me. I want to know what that man said, Christopher." Sam matched Christopher's agitation.

"Nnnoooo, don't think you do. Doesn't make any difference really, anyway. _We're_ having the twins and _we're_ quite pleased with it. Nnone of his business." With that, he stood. "I'll just go see to the fish now."

As Sam watched him disappear through the door, she turned to Andrew. "Will you please see if you can get it out of him, Andrew?'

"Not on your life, Sam. I know that look. He won't budge and I'll get a proper dressing down for even asking. Besides, he's probably right, you don't want to know. Old man Patterson always had a foul mouth and I imagine its only gotten worse. Dad's not going to repeat what the man said because it isn't fit for a lady's ears and especially, in his estimation, for _his_ lady's ears."

"Oh," she huffed. "You Foyle men are impossible Does he really think I haven't heard bad language before?"

"I doubt it's the language as much as it is the meaning, Sam. Besides, he's right. The two of you are happy with the situation. Don't let a miserable old man upset you. No one else's opinion matters anyway."

"Yours does!" She shot back.

"Well, yes, I suppose, since the twins will be my little brothers or sisters." He paused and quirked his head. "Funny, I used to wish for siblings, when Mom was still with us. Then after she died, I knew it would never be. Dad was too lost in his grief to remarry, or so I thought until you came along," he chuckled. "I didn't realize how completely you knocked him off his rails though until he told me that you were getting married. Oh, he would have puttered along on his own just fine. But you've brought him real happiness, Sam. Concentrate on that. You and Dad have something unusual and very special. Don't let miserable old buggers with big mouths upset you."

Sometime later in the afternoon, Sam was resting, as was becoming her habit. Andrew and Christopher had finished cleaning the dishes from lunch and were settled in the parlor, enjoying a cuppa and some biscuits Christopher had uncovered in the pantry. "Want to thank you, Andrew," Christopher said.

"You're welcome. For what?"

"Earlier with Sam."

"You mean for putting you in that awkward spot? I'm really sorry about that, Dad."

"As you should be," Christopher admonished before letting his mouth drift down into a small smile. "But that's not what I mean. After I left the room…. Don't know what you said to her but it seems to have calmed her down and…. Wull, seems she's going to let the matter drop."

"Oh, that. Just told her what a miserable old man Mr. Patterson is and that she shouldn't let his misery disturb her happiness, or yours."

"Ppreciate it anyway. Truth is, I'm having a bit of difficulty with it all. Not that she's expecting and that its twins, mind you. Jjust don't quite know how I'm going to support us all."

"Can you go back to the police?"

"Maybe. Would rather not. Did work briefly for a barrister doing some investigating but that didn't work out."

"Oh? Is he crooked?" Andrew asked.

"Nnot in the legal sense, no. But, unscrupulous. Ruined a man even though he knew the information he was working with was incomplete and it cast a false cloud over the man. Did it in court for all to hear. That was it for me."

"Yes, I can see why. You're right not to work for someone like that."

"Yup. But my principles aren't going to put food in the mouths of my family."

"You'll find something else, Dad."

"Sam says I should write one of those mystery novels, like Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers or Leo Bruce. Says I could make a fortune."

"Don't know about a fortune, but you'd certainly have plenty of material to work with."

Christopher harrumphed. "Would read as dry as one of my police reports."

"You could use a ghost writer. Look, I have a friend in the publishing business. Let me speak with him and see how it would work."

Christopher started to decline the effort but then looked contemplatively at his son and leaned forward. Andrew hadn't scoffed at the notion and even seemed to think it good enough to make further inquiries on his behalf. "You really think anyone would be interested?"

"Of course. You must've had some pretty strange things happening here during the war, along with the usual robberies and killings. There has to be at least a book or two in all that."

Right. Wull, if you think there might be anything to it…."

"I'll see what he thinks. Won't hurt to ask."

"No, no I suppose it won't," Christopher said as he relaxed back into his chair. It wasn't that he was keen on the idea of writing a book. But it would allow him the freedom of managing his own schedule. And with twins, Samantha might need extra hands from time to time. And perhaps it would bring in enough extra income to smooth over any rough patches. As Andrew had said, it wouldn't hurt to inquire.


	42. Chapter 42

There seems to be fewer and fewer Foyle stories being posted. I do hope that everyone has not gone away entirely.

* * *

The Foyles, all three of them, enjoyed their evening together; Sam and Christopher were sorry to see Andrew leave the next day. Driving back from the train station, Sam sighed deeply, a sure sign to Christopher that something was bothering her.

"Alright love?" He asked.

"Yes," she sighed again. "It's just that as much as I enjoyed having Andrew, it was such a whirlwind visit. He was suddenly here and then almost as suddenly, he was gone. And I know you like having him down from town."

"I do. But he really should have given you adequate warning. Definitely a requirement after the twins arrive. You'll be far too busy with them and won't be able to accommodate him so easily."

"But I do want him to always feel like he is welcome," Sam protested.

"Certainly. But with some warning in the future, at least ringing us before he leaves London." The couple arrived back at Steep Land satisfied with their agreement about Andrew's visits. "I'll let him know in my next letter," Christopher told Sam as they climbed the steps to the door.

"Alright," Sam said, "But be sure that he understands that it isn't that we don't want him here, ever."

"Of course, my darling."

Christopher made sure Sam rested the rest of the day, giving her time to recover from the boisterous pleasure that his was his son.

That evening, after dinner had been consumed and the kitchen dealt with, Christopher and Sam settled into the chairs by the hearth. "Christopher, what were you and Andrew talking about yesterday when I was having a lie down?"

The corner of Christopher's mouth dipped slightly as he thought back to the conversation. "Not much really; erm…. Andrew thought your idea of me writing mysteries had merit."

Perking up in her chair, Sam leaned slightly toward him. "He did? What did he say?"

"Wull, said there might be interest, seemed to believe that people would be interested to know about things happening here during the war."

"So, will you try it?"

"Don't know yet. Andrew has a friend in publishing. Thought he'd ask this friend about the notion, er…. How it might work. Andrew suggested a ghost writer after I said anything I write will be as dry as a police report."

"A ghost writer?" Sam whispered as she considered the idea. "Yes, that might be perfect, someone who could embellish things a bit, spice it up."

Christopher blinked. "Thought of a few cases that might be spicy enough on their own."

"Oh?" Sam looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "And just which would that be?"

"Erm, well…. there was that one where the German killed the farmer; you remember, you worked a day with the land girls."

"Yes, the one with that horrible Ricks woman," Sam huffed.

"Oh, she wasn't so bad," Christopher replied, his lips quirking downwards as he watched for Sam's reaction.

"She was awful! Don't you remember how nasty she was to you? Always making comments about men, disparaging ones."

"Yes, wull…. She'd been hurt. She'd been married and apparently, he was a lout. Lost her son at Dunkirk too."

"Oh. Well, I am sorry about her son," Sam said mournfully. But then her head bobbed up. "You certainly got to know a lot about her."

"Yes, we talked, a bit. Her note when she departed gave hope to the notion that perhaps she was looking a little more kindly on most men."

Sam tilted her head as she stared across at her husband. "You did that, made her see men differently. You put up with her rude remarks and listened and made her see that all men are not like her husband."

"P'haps. But underneath it all, I think she hoped not all men were like him. I think she was looking for someone to knock that chip off her shoulder and help her mend."

"Oh Christopher, you always pretended to be so aloof, detached from all the human foibles we encountered. And yet, you've always been right there, ready to come to the rescue if needed. It's one of the things I love most about you. You're a very quiet knight in shining armor."

"Don't know that I'm all that shining, or that I am a knight. But in police work, there has to be some amount of armor, Sam. Else, an officer would drown in the sorrow of it."

"Yes, I see your point about the armor. But you'll always be my knight."

Christopher smiled, obviously chuffed. "Wull, as things are going, I'll even be a bit shiny before long," he said as he ran his fingers over the top of his head.

Sam grinned. "As long as you keep those curls at the back; I do love running my fingers through them," she teased.

"I shall endeavor to keep them then. After all, promised to keep you happy."

"Oh, you keep me very happy," Sam answered in a throaty voice. "In fact, let's go up and you can make me very happy tonight."

Christopher Foyle was a very intelligent man; he knew what was on offer. And being a good husband, he quickly moved to follow his wife's request and keep her happy.

Andrew rang at the end of the week. "Dad, I talked with my friend. He thinks that you writing mysteries set during the war is brilliant. Instead of writing a book, he suggested publishing your stories as serials in one of those mystery magazines. His publisher owns one, _Great_ _Detective Mysteries,_ that is looking for new writers. Gerry, my friend, offered to put you in contact."

"Oh wull…. That's erm, really? " a bemused Christopher muttered.

"Yes Dad, really. Gerry said for you to put something together and send it along. Doesn't have to be the whole story, just an introduction of sorts, so they can get a feel for what your story might be like. Maybe a synopsis of your case with a first chapter?"

"Right, erm…. Just in my own writing?"

"They'll look at it and see if a ghost writer is needed, Gerry said. If they have to pay a ghost writer it will affect your payments. But Gerry said that if the story does well, it should keep a decent bit in your purse."

"Wull, that's good to hear. W…when would this introduction need to be sent, how soon?"

"Sooner the better, Dad. That way they can be working on it with you; you'll have an editor to work with. Then when one of their current stories ends, they can put yours in." Andrew paused and then asked, "do have a story in mind? One of your cases?"

"Actually, thought of two or three that might be interesting enough. Sam thought one was an excellent choice."

"Oh? What happened?"

"Farmer was killed; made to look like suicide. As it happened, there'd been German bombers over the area that night and one was shot down. It was actually one of the Germans that killed the farmer. But there is more to the story, much more."

"Right. Sounds good. Oh, and Gerry said anything you can add that's got a personal touch, make it …. well, more personal for the readers."

"Right, I think this one has enough for your friend Gerry."

"Well alright then, sounds as if you have a direction."

"Ummm, Andrew?"

"Dad?"

"You really think this is a good idea?"

"Look Dad, I know you are economical with your words, but this isn't the time to be. But yes, I think you probably have quite a few cases that can be dressed up and rearranged to keep from revealing too much of what really happened which would be fantastic. And people are hungry for something to take their minds away from the continuing rationing and all. And they want to be reminded of why we went through all that, so I think you starting with the German story is good."

"Alright. I'll begin tomorrow then. Thank you, Andrew."

"Glad I can help. About time I begin to repay all the times you've helped me."

"No repayment needed, son. It's what fathers do. I hope someday you find out for yourself."

"Yes, well…. not too soon."

"Nope. Must find the right girl first. But one day perhaps."

"Righto. Well, I'll ring off now. I'm meeting up with some friends at a new pub that's opening."

"Enjoy your evening, son."

"Thanks Dad."

Sam walked through just as Christopher placed the receiver back in the cradle, his mind on the conversation. "Who rang?"

"Mmmm? Oh, that was Andrew. Spoke with his friend. Seems there might be some interest in my cases becoming stories. His friend suggested one of those mystery magazines, to do a story as a serial."

"Oh, that sounds lovely. Not quite as intimidating as writing a whole book."

"P'haps," he replied distracted. "I'll need to send something along soon, Andrew said; a summary with a first chapter, he said."

"That shouldn't be too difficult. You've already been thinking about it," she said as she settled into what had become her chair. Patting her rounded tummy, she spoke softly. "Your father is going to be a famous mystery writer. What do you two think of that, hmmm?"

Christopher couldn't help the smile that slowly crept into his features. "Don't know about famous, Sam. I'll be content if it earns enough to feed everyone."

Sam looked up at him, her eyes glistening. "But I do know. Your work in the war did matter, Christopher. I know you always thought you could be doing something more important, but while Andrew and the others were off fighting the Germans, you keep us all safe here at home, my darling. And people need to remember that side of things too. Not all the heroes flew in aeroplanes or went to France. Some worked quietly here at home."

"I know a commissioner or two who would scoff at the notion I was quiet. But … point taken." He gazed across at her marveling at how fortunate he was to have her as his champion.


End file.
